Breath of Attachment
by MistroStrings
Summary: Thorin's voice shook with anger. "I ordered you not to come on this quest." Tormora's eyes saw through the King like glass. "You said, and yet here I am." He wanted to be angry with her, but her sudden appearance shook him. It took every fiber of his being not to reach out and touch her. "Well then," he hissed. "I hope you brought your sword." Thorin/OC ThorinxOC
1. A Watchful Eye

**Hello everyone! Thank you for reading my new story. This chapter may seem a bit confusing at first, but of course things will be cleared up as the story continues! Hopefully you enjoy what you read and don't forget to comment. ;)**

**I'm going to mainly be writing this story in relation to the film "The Hobbit" but there may be some book references scattered throughout! Thanks for you understanding. :D **

**~Mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~.~**

The night did not forgive easily. Her single eye, the Moon, was watchful of those who missed her lullaby and cursed them when the morning rose. At the breaking of the day, those who continued their lives beneath the Moon grew tired and drained. Their punishment during the hours of sunshine was to only find comfort behind closed eyes. They slept the day away, missing opportunities for socializing, learning, and ultimately living. The Moon could be wicked, but not all suffered her wrath.

Tormora was the Moon's most beloved enemy. The darkness of the female Dwarf's features was a comfort to the gray sphere, but her lack of slumber drove the Moon into frustration. Why did the girl not dream? Was her pillow too rough? Did her childhood haunt her? The Moon wondered these things, but never received an answer.

Anyone that knew Tormora would understand that it was not the past's fault. Her insomnia did not stem from misery, discomfort, or illness of the mind. It was the anger flooding through her. Hurt and betrayal lingered in every bone of her body, causing her to stay cautious and awake.

He had left her without so much as a good-bye. And worse, he had said he did not want her as a member of his Company.

_Tormora. _She thought keenly with a smirk. Her name meant "soul seer" and was graced to her by her grandfather. _How ill-fitting of a name, when I cannot even see the truth in the souls I hold closest to my heart. _She shook her head and brought her hammer down with all the strength she could muster.

Sparks of fire trickled from the iron, its flames forming hungry eyes in the darkness. The idea of red eyes watching her sent a momentary trickle down her spine. Her blacksmith hands were weary and scabbed, but they could hardly stop their work. With another grim smile, she pounded metal against metal.

And each time it reminded her of him.

Thorin, son of Thráin. Previously_ Prince_ under the Mountain, but that title had become _King _after the battle of Azanulbizar. Thorin _Oakenshield, _as many called him in whispers and praise. Thorin Oakenshield, the only man who could make her feel desire and disgust in the very same instant.

Each slam of the hammer cracked in her ears until her senses froze like the passion in her heart. She was a worker. A blacksmith. A homeless Dwarf-woman who viewed herself with disappointment. She hadn't always felt that way.

Once, she believed herself special. It was Thorin Oakenshield who bestowed a sense of significance upon her. Those surprisingly gentle eyes of his would stare her down with the fear of a smile crossing his lips. He hardly opened up to anyone, but somehow his soul found comfort in hers. There had once been more to that stare than friendship. There had been a desire to be held and adored in the quiet hours of the night. They had danced around one another during the days as if nothing special sparked between them, but if one looked closely they would catch his eyes on her back and the trembling of her hands in his presence.

"Mora, what are you doing awake this late in the evening?" The deep voice was hardly more than a mumble as it trickled in from the threshold. If she hadn't steadied her hammer to calm her fury, she may have mistaken her father's question for a breeze passing by.

"Making a sword." Her answer came with fervor trickled across each syllable.

Her back was to him, but she was certain he was raising that thick, black brow of his. "You've made sixteen in the past month. I think the Blue Mountains have run out of citizens in comparison to your weapon count."

"It helps me think." Tormora let the lie slip off her tongue. Help her think? Quite the opposite. It helped her _not _to think. _Not _to think about him.

"Well, it keeps me awake." Tordir's tone was less fatherly this time. His inner Dwarf was shining through and Tormora knew that if her hammer hit the anvil one more time, he would be tossing her childish behind into bed.

She let her arm fall, the chill of the night failing to tone down her sweat and heavy breathing. Every muscle in her begged for a soft cushion to lie upon, but her heart shook with the desire to go on. "Head back inside," she muttered. "I'll join you in a moment."

Tordir hesitated at the doorway. He was fearful that she would continue smithing the moment he turned his back. And yet, without getting a true look at her expression, he knew she was growing wearier as each second passed. "My dearest daughter," he sighed heavily, "you must let it go. It was not your place-"

"I said I will join you in a moment." The bitterness of her tone hurt even Tormora herself. She did not mean to sound cruel, especially to her cherished father, but it was difficult to be kind when he tried to get her to talk about it.

The rejection.

"_Tormora, you will not be a member of my Company at _any _point in time. You have come to the moment where you beg like a dog and it churns my stomach to see such a pitiful act. You are clearly not as strong as I believed you to be. You are not prepared. And most importantly, you are a woman. Your place is with your father. You'd be wise not to forget that."_

Every word. How had she remembered every word that fell from his lips? Because it twisted a knife into the very place in her heart that held hope and ripped it apart. She knew Thorin was a harsh man, but never had he spoken to her with such resentment. The worst part was realizing that it defied everything he had once praised about her. Her strength. Her loyalty. Her importance.

Tormora waited until the glow of the sword grew dim. It was unfinished, but she could leave it for one night. Sleep would soon wrap her in its arms and carry her mind off to a better place. At least, she hoped it would.

A single sigh fell from her frozen lips, turning into fireless Dragon smoke before her eyes. Life under the Blue Mountains. A "new" life as the citizens of Dale had called it. A life of peace and comfort, but not of happiness.

Dale. She missed Dale and all of its crumbling yellow facades. She missed conversing with the Men in Westron, practicing her pronunciations until perfected. Though she was not of their race, she never felt ostracized. They appreciated her skills and did not label her as "greedy" or "stubborn" as most did upon meeting a Dwarf. She also longed for the bakery where her father would pick up fresh cinnamon bread in the evening, the perfect companion to her squash stew. Most importantly, she missed her blacksmith shop. That was her true home with its thick, wooden walls to trap in the heat like a blanket of comfort.

She would never see it again. That was, unless Thorin slayed the Dragon Smaug and reclaimed his rightful place on the throne. And though that would bring her home, she despised the idea of meeting him again. She despised the idea of Thorin having power over her. It made her stomach wobble and her head ache.

And yet, seeing him was what she had to do. Seeing him was not an option. _One night of sleep, _she thought. _One night of sleep and then I shall prove him wrong. _

~.~.~.~.~.~

The meeting with the seven Dwarf envoys of Middle-Earth went on later than expected. None of them had given their word, putting Thorin Oakenshield into an uncomfortable spot. He was tired. Tired of listening to rejection. Tired of listening to the voice in his head that offered him hope, only to have it die out moments later. Everyone said it was his fight, but that was only because they were afraid.

Thorin had heard enough of his kin's disappointing words. He was only a day away from meeting the Company's new burglar and he was certain to be late. _Fashionably, _he thought with amusement, but his sagging eyes reminded him that he did not look like anyone worth admiring.

"You have heard our opinion on the matter." His cousin's voice trickled aimlessly into his head as his lengthy speech simmered to a close. "We support your choice, but we cannot help you. This fight is yours and yours alone."

He had already guessed their answer before stepping foot into the meeting. For most of the discussion he had been calculating how far south Bag End was and just how late he would be for dinner. "Very well," Thorin responded with a tight smile. "We are honored to have your blessing and your refusal to help is clearly received."

Dáin's face twisted in discomfort. He did not wish to make Thorin angry, but it was too late. The Iron Hills, the area Dáin ruled, had refused. So had all the other six Dwarf envoys. Any moment now and the door would-

_Slam._

Thorin did not mean to shut the door so firmly. His growling stomach had taunted him to leave and his hunger made him a bit more aggressive than usual. At least he could say he tried. Telling his men more disappointment would be hard, but he had handled such things before. Too much of it, perhaps.

Telling her that she couldn't come was perhaps the most disappointing thing in recent weeks. Tormora would never forgive him. He knew her far too well to suspect that she would. The way she looked at him when he told her assured him that his foul words struck her down. Tormora wasn't afraid of a Dragon, but genuine fear had spread across her face when he raised his voice to her and refused her request to fight alongside him. She was completely crushed, heartbroken even, to hear that he did not want her.

And yet, he could never admit why. It was not due to uselessness in battle. In many ways she could beat Dwalin in fair fight, and it was safe to say that Ori and his slingshot were far less impressive. He hated admitting it, but she would have made an excellent member of their Company.

But there were other reasons why he had to refuse. Reasons he could hardly admit to himself, let alone her.

Images of her flickered across his mind. Black hair tied up to keep it out of her metal work. A silk face with cheekbones sharper than her finest swords. Her beardless face was uncommon for a Dwarf woman, though there were some like her. However, they found comfort in tying their hair below their chin to give off such an illusion. Tormora kept her hair away from her face- as if she were proud of her smooth skin- and many Dwarves confessed that they found it surprisingly beautiful. There was also that upward curl of her lip when she was cheerful _or _irritated. He had to push the thoughts aside; his hands were shaking as a result.

With a quick kick of the gravel beneath him, Thorin set off towards the land of Hobbiton. He had never seen Bag End, but he imagined it to be a quaint and comfortable sort of life; a life he yearned to give his people back in Erebor. It would be interesting to meet the fourteenth member, albeit questionable since Hobbits rarely left their land.

His eyes glanced up towards the watchful eye of the Moon. She rose in the sky as he walked, her rays guiding him down the empty path. He could almost hear the Moon's whisper:

_Thorin Oakenshield, you know nothing of what's to come. _

~.~.~.~.~

**Review? :3**


	2. Beginning the Desire

**Thank you for the lovely review, guys! It's so nice to see some old readers tuning in for a new story, and of course welcome to everyone new! Your reviews really do mean a lot to me and I would appreciate reading your opinion for every chapter from this point on. ;)**

**Thorin: You're being awfully needy, don't you think?**

**I'm… I'm … What? Sorry? How did you get in here?**

**Thorin: ****-raises a thick brow with no sign of amusement- The saddest part is that you're actually asking me that question.**

**-glances down at her fingers, which are the ones typing- Oh. Right. Well, anyway! Please DO review, no matter how needy I sound!**

**Thorin: You know, when ***** I * asked for help, no one came-**

**Yeah, yeah, we've heard this story a million times before.**

**-Maestro**

**~.~.~.~.~**

Rivendell. Imladris. "Deep valley of the cleft".

Tormora knew that the beautiful Elven paradise was going to be a stop on Thorin's journey before they reached Erebor… whether he liked it or not. If they had good fortune and decent weather they would reach the outpost in about two weeks, giving Tormora plenty of time to create a path of her own.

Thorin Oakenshield had not planned on going to Rivendell. In fact, Tormora knew very well that he would do everything in his power to avoid it. When he informed her that Gandalf the Grey was accompanying them on their journey, she knew that the powerful Wizard would find a way to get the Company to Rivendell one way or another.

Lord Elrond was one of the few beings left in Middle-Earth who could read ancient Khuzdûl, which would be quite useful as Thorin's map was written in the text. Spite would flood over the stubborn Dwarf leader when they approached the Elven kingdom, but even he could not deny that the reading of the map was more important than any harbored grudges. Of course, it would take every ounce of his being to convince himself that the Elves could actually be useful.

And so, Tormora would meet them there. Rivendell was about halfway through their journey to Erebor, giving Thorin time to think of the mistake of not including her, while giving her a chance to reconcile with her beloved friends in Rivendell. Luckily for her, she knew she would be offered a warm bed and delicious foods upon her arrival. She was not so sure about the others.

Though it angered many of the Dwarves, Tormora was one of the rare beings that had communicated with the Elves long before Smaug's attack. In fact, the tradition was vital in her family. They were to keep peace with the Elves as envoys and friends. Though the two races were dissimilar, valuable aspects of their lifestyles were beneficial to the other. Dwarves knew that the Elves' skill in crafting swords was unparalleled, while the Elves recognized the strong mining and gemstone care that the Dwarves possessed. Each was valuable to Middle-Earth and they had done well to recognize that.

Until Thranduil, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm had broken that trust.

Tormora did not like the Elves residing in Mirkwood. She had often rounded her path far from their borders when she travelled across the country, making sure that the ice-cold gaze of their King was not fixated on her at any point. He terrified her in a way that she could not explain, though her Dwarfish nature encouraged her to turn that fear into hatred.

Tormora pushed the thought of Elves aside to focus back on her mission. Her small hut rested on the edge of the Blue Mountains, just before the River of Lûne and near the edge of The Shire. A gentle breeze was blustering around the house as it headed towards the Gulf. She smiled, pleased that the sound would dim her footsteps as she crept towards the outdoors. Her small leather bag was tied tightly on her back, for she was fearful that night creatures would come and snatch it from her. And though it would certainly reduce her speed to a minimum, her sword and bow were also brought along for any dangers that might meet her on the road.

She shut her bedroom door quietly behind her, the metal knob creaking as she released it from her firm grasp. Her body tensed at the minor sound, but as she waited for a sign that someone had heard, the sound of her father's gentle snoring assured her that all was well. Though she could have left without a trace, seeing her father one last time was a risk she had to take before her exit was made. Her heavy feet crept towards the end of the hallway, pausing on the threshold of Tordir's bedroom.

Tormora was fortunate that her father had kept his door open only a crack, just in case she would call for him in the night. Though he was two hundred and forty years of age, he never stopped taking care of his treasured daughter. To him, she was worth more than the gold and the emeralds of the Earth, a rare affection to be found in a Dwarf. Her mother had died around the time of her birth in TA 2748, and Tormora quickly filled the empty trench in her father's soul.

The thought sent a warm shudder through Tormora's body. Her father would be sorely missed. His thick, white beard would no longer be there for her to rest her weary head onto. His wrinkled hands would not grasp her tightly when she was fatigued or upset. He was nearing the end of his days, but that was life and Tormora had learned to handle such things. She once feared that he would chase after her upon realization of her leaving, but he was too old for that. He would wait for her return and then she would bring him back to their rightful home. There, he would rest in peace until time decided to reclaim him.

That was… if she ever came back.

Tormora swallowed the thought down as it appeared like a lump in her throat. _Don't think about such things. _Her voice was harsh inside of her mind. _This is why Thorin did not want you in the first place._

Tormora silently sent Tordir her love and found her way to the front entrance of the house. Her hand hesitated as she pulled back the door, but when the wind hit her face with a gentle brush, she couldn't help but smile. The moon was still high in the sky, keeping the elegant sun hidden in its black cape. She could feel no warmth, but if she kept on her steady path with determination, the sun would eventually provide her that comfort. There was more that brought her comfort. There was a thought that kept her feet in action and her blood pumping:

Thorin was about to find out just how big of a mistake he_ really _made.

~.~.~.~.~.~

The start of the day was beginning to crack as the birds took note with their songs. Tormora had walked without any kind of intrusion thus far. She had made her path far from the Blue Mountains already, and though her feet were weary, she was making good time and therefore did not wish to stop. The fields were open and safe and there was even a trace of excitement to come across the peaceful farmlands of the Shire.

Though Tormora was leaving a week later than the others, she was certain their paths would meet eventually. There were much more of them. That meant that extra sleep, food supplies (particularly with Bombur in the group) and even some battle training would need to be taken up along the way. They were not in any particular hurry, but Tormora was. She had only herself to take care of. She lived on only four hours of sleep every night. Her food could be eaten while walking. She was certain that she would find them in time.

By the end of the day, she planned to be just outside of the Far Downs, which rested on the edge of the Shire. She had to keep her determination flowing and her energy levels high.

The sun was barely trickling into the sky, but that only pressed Tormora to walk as far as she could before it came to its peak. She presumed Thorin and his Company would still be sleeping at that hour and Tormora was already on their trail. She felt a surge of anticipation as she advanced on them, especially since none of them had any idea of her trickery.

Her steady hands plucked a fresh apple from her trouser pocket, juicy and temptingly delicious. "Well," she said with a mischievous smirk. "I'd better get a good look of you. You're certain to be the last clean apple that I'm going to eat for quite some time." Her teeth waited no more than a second to sink themselves into the silky flesh of the fruit. The pinkish juice trickled down her chin and as she wiped it, a memory she did not want to recall came slithering back into her mind…

_Dale was not a city that missed out on celebrations. Banners were hung more than twice a year, sometimes for momentous occasions like a battle's victory, and at other times for something as simple as a newborn child. There were many celebrations for the Men of the city, but on that particular summer day in the year TA 2765, the parade was to honor of the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. That day symbolized the finding of the precious Arkenstone, a jewel so beautiful and full of worth that the Dwarf King Thrór saw it as a sign for his divine right to rule._

_The Men and Women of Dale honored this find and praised the King just as much as the Dwarves in his kingdom. And though the city was filled with those who spoke the tongue of Westron, there were a few Dwarves amongst the walls who were pleased such a celebration was occurring._

_Tormora, daughter of Tordir, was a young Dwarf woman, only seventeen years of age, who was one of those flooding with excitement. She was halfway towards being a woman and therefore she allowed herself to take part in silly festivals, dances, and late-night theatrics without any shame. When she heard the news of the parade, she could not help but plaster a wide grin on her face. _

_And that was not just because of the celebration._

_A year prior she had met Thorin, son of Thráin. In fact, she had met _all _of the royals upon entering the Lonely Mountain. It was when Thrór had announced that he had found the Arkenstone that creatures travelled from far and wide to praise him. Tormora, her father, and her grandfather were no exception. _

_When they had entered the dimly lit palace, the beauty struck Tormora hard in the gut. For sixteen years she had been living directly across from such a remarkable place, though its wonders were entirely unknown to her. Part of her regretted the fact that she lived among Men, as the Lonely Mountain proved to be a particularly regal sort of lifestyle. In fact, she was so awestruck that she forgot her purpose in the first place._

"_Tormora," her grandfather whispered with a smirk. "We're going to miss our meeting if you don't stop staring." _

_The three of them were quickly led into the Throne Room. Its slender walkway carried no barriers for protection as visitors were expected to keep their composure before the King. Tormora couldn't keep her eyes fixated on the royalty standing before her; her interest lied in what lingered over the edge. Deep below her laid intricate pathways that disappeared into the darkness of the Earth. She wondered which Dwarves were lucky enough to find out where they led. _

"_It seems you have a curious daughter," a deep voice echoed in the tauntingly large hall. Tormora's head snapped upwards at the mention of her sex, only to have her cheeks turn as red as fire. She had been completely ignoring the King and his kin. Sure enough, Thrór had been the first to notice. Her foolishness would most likely get punished, but she was surprised to see her father and grandfather both laughing._

"_She is curious; there is no doubt of that, my King." Her father spoke in their gruff language of __Khuzdûl__, but with an eloquent grace that Tormora had never heard fall from his lips. Now she could not seem to take her eyes off of him, her confusion plastered onto her face like a mask. "I am Tordir, son of Tór. This is my daughter, Tormora." _

_The girl curtseyed low to the ground, though she could feel her knees wobbling. She cursed silently in her head for making a fool of herself in less than three minutes. _

"_What shall you be gifting to me, Dwarves of Dale?" Thrór was neither threatening nor frightening as the young girl expected him to be. His interest was clearly genuine as he leaned forward from his throne. There was a black bundle in Tór's hand that was obviously heavy and Thrór immediately took an interest. _

"_We are your humble blacksmiths, my King," her grandfather spoke up. "We have crafted many swords that linger inside of this beloved Mountain, as well as many weapons that reside in the city of Dale. We hope you will accept the finest of our makings and pass them down to your heirs and future rulers." _

"_We graciously accept your offer," Thrór said with a smile. There was something about the King that Tormora liked. Perhaps it was his charming beard-piece of metal, striking her as rather fashionable. Fashionable? She shook her head in disbelief. She had the worst concentration in all of Middle-Earth. "I hope your craftsmanship is as good as you claim."_

"_It is," Tordir said with Dwarfish pride. "Your Majesty."_

_Thrór's head nodded slowly with consideration. With a quick snap of his fingers, he redirected his gaze onto his grandson. "You are the true master of the sword, my dear grandson. Go and fetch those and inspect if they will do us any good." _

_Tormora had heard of the young Dwarf Prince. He was only nineteen years of age, but he already acquired a full beard and hefty stance. His steps were deliberate and meaningful, his gaze completely fixated on the weapons. When he approached Tór's bundle, his eyes caught sight of something he had not entirely noticed before. _

_Tormora was struck into silence when she caught his attentions landing upon her. His eyes were narrowed in confusion as he allowed himself a closer look at her clean-shaven face. Her hair was remarkably thick and loose, its waves framing her youthful face with a flattering composition. A few braids pulled stray strands from her eyes, their black twists echoing of smoke. She could not read what emotion was planted in his look, but the slight cock of his head proved that he held somewhat of an interest in the girl. Good or bad, she did not know. _

"_May I?" Thorin's attention snapped back to the main reason he was there. His fingers unwrapped the fabric slowly, revealing a shimmering display of iron swords, daggers, and elegant axes. They were all sharp enough to cut through the skin of an Orc, and durable enough to last a few lifetimes. "These are remarkable." Tormora felt her stomach bubble at the compliment. "And yet, I notice there is Elven influence in your style of craft." _

"_Yes," Tór explained calmly. "Their craftsmanship has inspired us. I have a debt that I must pay to the Elves, and therefore I am at peace with their race. They have taught us a matter of skills and they have helped us produce these fine creations." He gestured widely towards the silver throat-cutters. Tormora smiled with pride. The one Thorin had picked up was one of her own making._

"_This one alone is worth much," Thorin's face held a gentle smile.__ "Which skilled hand made this?"_

_Tordir and Tór's eyes shifted to their left where Tormora stood. It took Thorin only a moment to realize what they were suggesting. "The girl?"_

"_I sacrificed many nights for that sword," Tormora confessed. Her father shot her a warning look. "My Prince," she corrected herself. Once again the young Dwarf stared at her, long and hard and full of incommunicable emotion. _

"_Yes, well you have certainly spent your time with good cause." Thorin broke his hard exterior to release another small smile. It was not large by any means, but it showed admiration of her skills and she would accept such gratitude no matter how small._

"_My Prince," she said with a low bow. She would not risk looking like a fool with another curtsey, and so she took up the more masculine form of thanking. Thorin only smirked, reminding her of just how unique of a Dwarf she truly was. _

_That had been the first time she met Thorin Oakenshield. The parade would be the second and something about that fact was strangely appealing to her. Tormora could hear the hooves of the Dwarves' ponies making their way down the tall hills of Dale. The people cheered, tossing flower petals out towards the royal line of Durin, making sure to show their appreciation in any way they could._

_Tormora did not wait alongside the faded yellow path for their arrival. She walked slowly; a freshly picked basket of apples wrapped tightly under one of her arms. Her dark blue dress skimmed the dusty streets as she waited for the Prince to make his arrival with the elders. _

_It did not take long. The cries got louder until Tormora finally glanced over her shoulder. The sun hit her square in the eyes, blocking her vision until she could regain her sight. And sure enough, when the sun cleared from her view, Thrór, Thráin, and Thorin were riding nobly into view. There had been a slight scandal about Thrór and his overwhelming lust for gold, but when Tormora laid eyes upon him, she saw no madness in his face. The people alongside them held most of the King's attention, but someone else seemed to take note of the single Dwarf woman standing away from the crowd. _

_Thorin had spotted her her standing just outside of a bakery. His eyes lingered on her for only a second until they believed it to be a trick of the mind. He turned his face away without an inch of recognition. However, the more he thought of it, the more he realized that something about the girl seemed familiar. He turned his head to get a second view of her for good measure's sake. Sure enough, it was the girl who had made his sword, looking just as striking as she had a year before._

_He did not think about her much after that incident, but he had used her sword on so many occasions since that it seemed strange not to have her trickle through his mind every now and again. Thorin was not a deep sort of Dwarf, and yet the sight of her seemed to spark something within him, perhaps the feeling of gratitude for her fine weapons. She was still short, clean-shaven, and smirking, just as she had been on the day of their first meeting._

_She could also not seem to fixate her gaze anywhere else. It was clear she remembered him, and something about that minute fact satisfied Thorin. With a gracious and admiring nod of the head, he sent his greetings her way._

_A chuckle escaped her lips, though he could not hear it over the clapping in the crowds. Her hand reached for something inside of her basket before it was sent flying towards the air in his direction. A green ball hurtled towards his face and with a quick flick of his wrist; he caught the apple delicately between his fingers. There was nothing strange about the fruit, but he could not seem to peel his eyes away. _

What an odd Dwarf, _he thought with a raise of his brow. If any of his guards had seen that, it would have been viewed as an attack on the line of Durin and she may very well have been detained. However, she had not been caught, and the apple lay safely with him. _

_He turned his head to thank her, but when his eyes met the spot she had been previously, her presence was gone. Thorin looked down at the apple with surprise. After a moment of consideration, he let his mouth taste the sweet nectar. Little did he know that a single fruit would be the entrance into a lifetime of desire. _

Tormora tossed the rest of the apple to the ground in dismay. She wanted to finish it, but the sheer memory made her stomach churn and her hunger dissolve. She was such a child back in those days. The world was innocent and sweet and not what it truly ought to be. There were long nights ahead of her and she needed to keep her focus if she was going to arrive in Rivendell in one piece.

She pulled out an Elfish cloak to protect her from the gentle winds of April. The cloak gifted to her by Lady Arwen of Rivendell as a token of her peacemaking. It had kept her warm on many chilled mornings and their matching evenings. Therefore, it was vital to bring along on her tedious expedition to find the Company. Tormora let her breath escape her open lips as she dug her boots into the crunched grass of the open fields.

Her journey was finally beginning.

~.~.~.~.~.~

**Review box is right down below …**

**I would also like to say that, although in the film Thorin seems awfully young, he was truly young when the Arkenstone was found. I did my absolute best with the ages and if things seem a bit strange, just know that they are accurate! **

**Thanks again & please review! **

**vvvvvvv**


	3. Putting Out The Flame

**Thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews! Many of you seem to be waiting to see how the story continues to judge whether you will carry on reading, and I hope that I do not disappoint! I love hearing your opinions. I hope things aren't too confusing for you and please let me know if anything is. :) **

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW. Just a thought or two on what you think of it would be incredibly appreciated! **

**All the best,**

**~Mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Bilbo Baggins had not expected thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard to show up on his doorstep late one evening. And he certainly hadn't expected them to eat all of his food, dirty his dishes and ruin his plumbing. One of the young Dwarves even wiped his muddy boots on his mother's glory box! The monstrosity! Gandalf had tried to convince the young Hobbit to come along with them on their quest to Erebor, but as usual, Bilbo retreated to his room with an adamant, "_No_".

It didn't take long for Bilbo to feel badly about his rejection. He could hear the Dwarves conversing in the hallway with dreary tones, their talks of home sending needle-like stabs through his stomach. Though their names were simple, he was not yet able to match them with the faces. Outside of his bedroom door, the jolly one with the rabbit-like hat was conversing with the young, blonde Dwarf. Bilbo was not one for scandals or secrets, but their conversation was hard to ignore.

"What about Tormora?" The younger one asked. Bilbo scanned his memory for the name. Fitli? Fiff? Fili? He raised a knowing finger. That was it: Fili.

"Aye, she remained in the mountains with Tordir. Not exactly because she desired to."

_She_? Bilbo thought with curiosity. Whom exactly were they talking about?

Fili released a grunt. "Thorin would be furious if he heard me admit it, but she would have been useful on this quest. Her skills with a sword are highly respectable. She might have also kept a level head on my uncle." Bilbo crept to the edge of the door, making sure to keep himself hidden while listening in on their exchange of words. Things grew more interesting as each second passed.

"She very well would have," the other man spoke with a sigh. He had caused Bilbo to faint earlier with the mention of Smaug the Terrible, and though the Hobbit was not particularly fond of the Dwarf, a depressing tone lingered in his voice. A chord of sympathy struck through Bilbo for reasons unknown. "She would have given us _all_ level heads."

Fili's whisper was one of realization. "You miss her."

"Aye, of course I do." While the speaker began to polish his flute, his name sprung upon Bilbo like a snapped tree branch. Bofur. "She was as close of a friend to me as the rest of the Company. Tormora had the final drop of wisdom and courage that we needed. She just didn't have the right… well, gender. According to Thorin, that is."

Fili snorted in amusement, though he was also displeased. "Very right you are, Mister Bofur."

Bilbo presumed that was the end of their discussion, as they made no more comments about the mysterious woman. He was exceedingly curious to hear more, but that curiosity reminded him of the contract they had offered, and he extinguished his interest like a growing fire. The night was not yet over, and the mention of a woman was just one more thought to keep Bilbo Baggins awake.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The heavy furs lining Tormora's body kept her sweat tightly packed beneath rough fabric of her tunic. She was aching for a chance to rest, and that wish was granted just as the sun crossed over the horizon. She could not remember a day that had been so silent and tedious, but her footsteps carried her to the Far Downs of the Shire as planned. Fields of yellow were her only companions on her walk, and she was grateful for the lack of danger so far. The most excitement Tormora experienced was when she debated with herself about killing a squirrel, despite having fresh bread and cheese in her bag. She opted for the more humane choice, but mainly to protect her arrowheads from unnecessary dullness.

Tormora's makeshift bed was created from an aged sheet of burlap that smelled strangely like cow droppings. She lit no fire, allowing for her heated body to cool. While setting up her pitiful camp, a longing for the Blue Mountains made her stomach tighten. When was the next time she would strike her anvil? When would she hear the purple jays awaken her with their song?

Though on the outside Dwarves seemed like unemotional beings, their homesickness seemed to outstretch that of any other race. Some would have put gold down that they were some of the most emotional creatures in Middle-Earth. Of course, none of them would admit to that fact.

For Tormora, her homesickness was slowly residing. She was crossing into unknown territory… forgetting about home would keep her safe and sane.

When she thought long enough about it, she did not truly miss the Blue Mountains. The only thing she truly yearned for, without a doubt, was her father. Whether she lived in Dale or the Blue Mountains, her father would always be her true home, because he was her heart. That wasn't to say that she did not miss the city beneath the Lonely Mountain. Dale was where she grew up, practiced her smithing, and even fell in …

Agony.

"I fell in agony." Tormora cursed to herself while pulling her furs more tightly around her neck. Speaking the words aloud helped to convince her that she never felt more than pain with Thorin Oakenshield. "Never did I fall in love… or anything remotely similar to the feeling." Though her voice sounded certain, her heart shook with the false confession. She tried to distract her mind with other thoughts, but nothing seemed to calm her.

She could imagine her fellow Dwarves laughing and enjoying their feast in the comfy Hobbit hole. If they had kept to the schedule that Bofur had mentioned, they would have been there on that very evening. In fact, if she would have kept walking, she could have made it to the Hobbit's house by the time they left the next morning.

And yet, she couldn't. She hated to admit it, but she was anxious to meet them. Thorin would ridicule her and send her back in the blink of an eye. They were not far from the Blue Mountains, and therefore it would not be difficult for him to do so. That was why Tormora would meet them at Imladris. Rivendell would be far enough away from their starting point; they would not risk going back. They would _have _to take her with them.

Not only that, but part of her believed that at least_ one_ of them would want her to come. After all, Bofur had given her such clear directions. Why else would he have done so, if he did not want her to follow them? Thorin made it clear to her, and embarrassingly enough to the entire Company, that she would not be accompanying them.

Not then.

Not soon.

Not ever.

"She is welcome to come back to Erebor once we have reclaimed it. She may even live inside of the mountain if she so pleases. But she will not follow us into danger. She will only hold us back. A woman is bad luck to carry along with on a journey, particularly ours. The threats we may face are no match for her." That was what Thorin had said to his Company before they set off. The others had all been kind enough to hold their tongues after the brutal declaration. Tormora didn't know if they were being polite because they disagreed, or because she had been standing right beside them the entire time.

That conversation had taken place a fortnight ago in a private tavern along the Northern Blue Mountains. Tormora had travelled north to try and reason with the Company's leader, but his decision had not swayed. Thorin was sure to be furious once she made her appearance in Rivendell. In fact, she would not have been surprised if he never spoke to her again. There was always a silver lining, however. Tormora was grateful that there were others to comfort her on that journey.

One, in particular.

_A young Tormora stood outside of a rickety toyshop in the center of the Northern Blue Mountains. She was nearing the age of thirty, and though she was getting old for such things, she couldn't help but be curious by the dolls displayed in the window. This was the age to get married, and there she was, infatuated with the glass beauties. They seemed as light as a feather, but with exquisite detail that could make even the most boring of gentlemen stop out of interest._

"_Fine works, aren't they?" _

_Tormora knew by the distinct accent that it was a Dwarf, most likely hailing from the Blue Mountains. When she turned to meet him, she was not surprised to see a slim Dwarf with tight braids smirking in her direction. He was much more homely than the Dwarves of Erebor, clearly expressed in his hair and clothing. His mouth was finishing off a recently cooked mince pie as little crumbs caught in his mustache._

"_You are the owner of this shop?" Tormora asked politely. The man had such a wide grin on his face; it almost seemed as if she should have known him. She tried to smile back, but she could hardly remember the last time she had performed such an act and struggled with its presentation._

"_Come inside, lass," the man gestured with a large wave as he headed inside the faded wooden door. Tormora hesitated for a moment, but her uncertainty was without reason. The man was friendly enough, and she was already comfortable in his presence. What shocked her was that she had not seen kindness inflicted upon her for many moons. _

_Tormora's first step through the door was like stepping into another kingdom. There were robotic eagles perched on branches, ready to take flight at the first tug of a string. Puppets of monstrous size rested against the back wall, their animalistic faces dusty from age, but no doubt as beautiful as when first created. The sight of them hit her in the gut, and she had to gasp in order to reclaim her composure. "These toys… They were in… I saw them in-"_

"_Dale?" The Dwarf's mustached lip curled into a smile. He had taken the very word from her lips. "The Men and Women of Dale seem to like my cousin's toys. I'm not quite as talented as him, but I make a fair amount. The people of Dale say they're magnificent; that they do!" _

_Tormora was lucky she had not been distracted; Bofur had sent a doll whirling towards her face. She snatched it gently from the air, fearful that it would crack against her rough hands. "Don't be worried about breaking it," the Dwarf laughed. "She looks delicate, but that doll is quite the fighter. Once fell down a flight of stairs. Not a scratch on her." _

_The white face stared up at Tormora with unblinking eyes. A doll's stillness was eerie in a way, though it seemed irrational to fear something that caused no harm. And yet, Tormora felt differently about that particular figurine. It wore a black cape of silk that shielded her glass, blue eyes from unwanted stares. There was no frill or pompousness in in her clothing, and Tormora wondered why she had been created to be such a way. In fact, Tormora was so caught up in the exquisiteness of her face that she hardly heard the owner speak. _

"_The name's Bofur, if you were wondering. My cousin is Bifur, but… He's not much for talking." A pause. "And who might you be?"_

"_What?" Tormora's eyes darted up in alarm. He was still smiling, filling her with a calming feeling that she had not felt since leaving Erebor. "I-I'm so sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Please forgive my rude manners." _

"_We're Dwarves," he teasingly scoffed. "No such thing as manners around here." _

"_My name is Tormora," she replied quickly. "I have just travelled here from Dale."_

_Bofur's face fell. His expression was suddenly cold and distant; the loveliness of it dispersing faster than Tormora could blink. She knew that look. She had seen it many times on the road… the look of pity and shame. It was given to her by Men and neighboring Dwarves alike. Even the animals of the forests passed on their regret; for they had a home, and the Dwarves of Erebor did not. They had nothing... nothing but fire and hatred for those who turned their faces away as they suffered. _

"_Do not take pity," Tormora assured. "In fact, it is difficult for me to admit, but you should feel nothing for me at all." Tormora's tongue halted as the confession fell closer to her lips. Why was she telling Bofur of her embarrassment? Why did she feel so easy around him? "I was not there… when the Dragon Smaug attacked." _

_Bofur's face held no judgment as his brows came together on his forehead. Tormora almost mistook his expression for concern. "Then, where were you?"_

"… _That is the worst part." A bump rose in her throat. Previous hunger dispersed instantly and Tormora felt nothing but emptiness. "I was with the Elves of Rivendell. I was busy drinking and dining while my home was being burnt to ash. My people were dying. My father could have gone up in smoke and I had not been there to protect him. And my grandfather…" Tormora shook her head as her skin flashed white. _

"_That doesn't seem to be your fault-"_

_Tormora continued without a beat. "You heard what happened shortly after Smaug appeared, I'm sure. You must have heard what happened with the Elves of the Woodland Realm." Bofur grew silent. He could see where this was going. "They turned on us. They turned on my kin. And I had been away on a _peace_ meeting with _their _race, only to find out that my efforts were for naught."_

_Bofur was silent for a long while as the girl tried to catch her breath. In fact, he thought he could almost see tears in her eyes, but she was strong and would not let them fall. He could not remember the last time he had seen a Dwarf cry, but he did not want it to be her that reminded him. "May I speak plainly?" He asked quietly. His only response was a grunt from the girl, who gripped the doll more tightly. "I do feel badly for everyone who has just come here from Erebor. I do take pity on them. But, believe it or not, I seem to feel worse for you. You're living with two regrets: your home being destroyed and not being able to do anything about it. If you ask me, that's extremely difficult." He waited to see her reaction, but her face was as concrete as the mountain behind his shop. "You have my ear and shoulder if you ever need them. You can find refuge in my shop if you ever seek it." Bofur shrugged with a lighthearted smirk. "I've heard that I'm a pretty good listener." _

_Tormora was aghast by the lack of judgment thrust upon her. He understood her. He offered her a place in his shop. And although he called her out on her bad luck, he made her feel entirely better about her situation. "Thank… you…" Tormora stuttered with disbelief. "If only others would be as forgiving as you, Master Dwarf."_

"_I'm sure they are," Bofur said with a small smile. "Perhaps your loved ones are upset with you, but that should pass. Those who are closest to us seem to be the harshest. The rest of your people should hold nothing against you." _

_At the mention of 'loved ones', Tormora recalled a cold gaze she had received after Smaug's attack. When she had met the Dwarves and remaining citizens of Dale on the road to the Blue Mountains, the look of disapproval on Thorin's face was something she knew she could never forget. He merely shook his head at the first sight of her, not offering an explanation or story. The Prince even had the nerve to pass her with a brutal shove of his shoulder, confirming that there was no affection left in his touch. As they travelled on that Durin-foresaken road, he said not a word and cast not a glance. _

_The Elves were their enemy now, and Tormora was a friend of theirs. That did not sit well with the Prince. In fact, those months of travelling allowed him to peel Tormora from his mind completely. She no longer existed in his eyes or heart. The dramatic shift in affections tore Tormora in half with a pain coming deep from the soul, yet without a cut of her flesh. _

_Bofur was suddenly beside Tormora, snapping her back into reality. "Tormora," he said gently. "Take this. Remember to stop by and see me again." _

_She suddenly felt something soft in her hand. When her gray eyes scanned her open palm, a wool rabbit rested peacefully against her fingers. Its large, button eyes kept a careful watch over the carrot it was clutching. The animal looked so life-like that Tormora had to catch her breath and make sure that it hadn't moved. "You don't have to give me such a precious gift! You have already been so kind." _

"_I was rather hoping it would remind you of me. People have said once or twice that I look like a rabbit." Tormora was grateful that he did not take it back. Its soft fur comforted her and reminded her of a more innocent time in her life. "You'll wake up, see it, and think to yourself… 'Today would be a lovely day to go off and visit Bofur the toymaker.' And soon enough you'll be back here every evening, listening to me play my clarinet and forgetting your troubles… No doubt with a pint of ale or two."_

_Tormora found herself believing the strange Dwarf. A smile snapped across her face, and this time, it was genuine and without fear of judgment. "You are too kind, Master Dwarf." _

"_Bofur," he corrected. "But being called a Master is starting to sound more and more appealing." _

"_Bofur," Tormora laughed. "I will remember your kindness. Thank you."_

_He gave a playful bow. "And thank you, miss. For buying my doll." _

_Tormora had nearly forgotten that she was still holding the delicate trinket. She reached to hand it back to him with red cheeks, but decided against it and took a step closer towards the door. "I will buy this doll, but I shan't pay you today. You will receive my money upon my next visit, therefore you know that I will truly come."_

_Bofur's smirk turned into a beam while his brows crunched together in curiosity. "I do believe I'm liking you more by the second." _

If it were not for her weary legs, the memory would have driven her to catch up with the others at Bag End. Not because of the quest. Not because of Thorin. It would be because of Bofur: her truest and noblest friend. He would make her feel comfortable and welcomed, like she was worth something.

But more had happened on the day she first met Bofur. She had not only made a new friend, but had confirmed the making of an enemy.

~.~.~.~.~.~

There was little to no comfort on the cold, wooden floor of the Hobbit hole that Thorin Oakenshield now resided in. However, he was not complaining. His furs gave him enough comfort to get a decent night's sleep, cushioning his head and shoulders, and he was truly thankful that he did not have to sleep on the muddied ground once more. He may have been a travelling Dwarf, but that did not stop him from enjoying the simple comforts of a freshly made bed.

The rest of his Company had fallen sound asleep, which came as no surprise considering the amount of food they ate. Thorin would not have been surprised if their snores were heard from the opposite end of The Shire, but at least it would not be the rumbling of their bellies.

Though the others wandered into their dreams of Knighthood and romance, Thorin was stuck in the dim dream of reality. His eyes fell to his hand that rested closest to the fireplace. A soft, orange glow splashed over his fingers like paint, but in his mind it was strictly fire: unforgiving, burning and domineering.

That was not the only thing that rested upon his fingers. On his right hand there laid a delicate, five-sided ring with a black undertone and an elegant silver exterior. The overlying metal was holed and crooked, but fashioned perfectly with a smooth exterior. It had been praised by those who took note of it, but when asked where it came from, Thorin could not properly form an answer.

"My dear friend made it exclusively for me," he might have said. "There is no other ring like it in all of Middle-Earth."

"Who is your friend?" They may have asked. "They have a talent with metal-work."

"Tormora, daughter of Tordir," Thorin could have replied. "She is brilliant with a hammer and metal. Give her a strip of rust and she shall transform it into a desirable blade."

But every time someone asked who the craftsman was, he could not be bothered telling them. Thorin tried not to waste his time thinking about her; it made him ill with regret. He had shunned her from a healthy life and kept her away from her friends. In fact, the friend she deemed closest to her was in his very Company. Thorin recalled the day Tormora had met Bofur. He had seen her happily leaving his shop with nothing but a smile on her face and a small rabbit in her hand.

And as he often found himself doing, he ripped that joy straight from her heart.

_Tormora left the toyshop with a spring in her step. The town along the Blue Mountains was quiet, with the exception of a few Erebor Dwarves looking for lodging and discussing new village plans. Recalculating their lives was difficult, but the Dwarves were quick to settle down and find comfort. _

_She had almost made her way up to the tent where her father rested, but was pulled gruffly aside before she could reach her destination. Whoever was holding her had a tight grip on her upper arm, and did not waste a second to pull her from society's view. "Excuse me!" She shrieked with annoyance. Her fists punched away at the arm of the kidnapper, but he continued to drag her into a crevice of the mountain. "What exactly do you think you are-" _

_Thorin's rough hands slammed Tormora's shoulders against the rocky side of the mountain, sending an ache down her spine and into her toes. Her groan was in aggravation rather than pain and her eyes did not waste a second to shoot daggers at her kidnapper. "What do you want?" It came out as more of a statement rather than a question. The sudden delight of making new friends was vanishing into a pile of dirt beneath her feet. With every new friend, a new enemy seemed to follow._

"_Listen to me clearly so I do not have to repeat myself. You are not to be here." Thorin had not said a word to her for nearly two months. Now that he finally acknowledged her existence, Tormora was not surprised to hear that his words were callous. "You are making friends and I am here to warn you that you would be better off not attaching yourself to them." _

"_You have not spoken to me in months." The confession seemed to shock the both of them as she verbally expressed the truth they had both been ignoring. Had it really been so long? "Why are you suddenly so adamant to make sure that I listen to you?" _

_Thorin was appalled by her lack of realization. "How can you expect to live amongst us when you have done nothing but betray us?"_

"Betray _you?"_ _Tormora pushed herself away from the wall and further into his hands. They remained on her shoulders, but gentler, as the gap between their heaving bodices closed. "I have done nothing of the sort and am perplexed as to why you thrust such accusations upon me."_

_Thorin dared to shorten the distance between them even more. The pace of Tormora's heart quickened, but she silenced it by holding her breath. The calmness she felt with Bofur turned into a whirlwind of anxiety with Thorin. "You may not have sided with the Elves, but you were with them when our Kingdom fell. A Dragon came and took our home and you were not there to help-"_

_Tormora tore his hands from her body. He was shocked by her brusque nature, but that was because he had forgotten whom he was dealing with. Tormora was not like a Woman of Dale. There was no hesitation for aggression in her. It was not her goal to be feminine, or careful of her tongue and actions. Tormora had proved herself strong, even beating him in a few duels many years ago, though he hated to admit it. "You cannot accuse me of a crime that I did not commit. You have the nerve to say that I have somehow contributed to this mess we are in, when I was merely trying to do good for my world. For my people."_

"_And look what your 'good' has gotten us," Thorin spat. She hardly even recognized him. The stubborn Dwarf Prince was turning into something ruthless. "Thranduil and his kin watched while our people burned. _Burned, _Tormora. Or am I not making myself perfectly clear?"_

_Oh, he was making himself clear. Tormora could hear every word falling from his chapped lips. They were as clear as he wanted them to be, and he wanted them sky-blue. His oceanic eyes were like heated daggers, slicing through her and melting her emotions into ash. Was that what it felt like when her people burned? Was it as unforgiving and powerful as his stare? _

_Thorin paused for a moment, his chest heaving with weariness. Tormora doubted that he could be nervous in her presence. It had been so long since they had touched. So long since they had kissed. It was like they were complete strangers, but the hostility floating between their auras' was undeniably belonging to previous friends… previous lovers. However, the silence he had given her on the path towards the Blue Mountains had provided Tormora with a shield against his accusations. _

"_What is it exactly that you are proposing I do?"_

"_I am proposing that you cross the River of Lûne and move into the Southern Blue Mountains. You cannot live up in the North with the few who remain. Take your father with you." Thorin's heart was crushing under the weight of his words. Speaking to her in that manner was killing him more than an arrow in the back, but judging by the look on Tormora's face, she had no idea how much he was suffering. "Take him and leave." _

_There was a brief stab of misery that trickled onto Tormora's face. It was enough for Thorin to take a step closer towards her in repressed agony, but she was too caught up in her sorrow to take notice. "Why? You are the only one who shuns me. _You_ are the harshest of all. What difference would it make if I kept out of your way in the north than if I lived further south?" _

"_It would make a difference," Thorin snapped as an attempt to cool his passion. His hands were once again pinned to her shoulders, keeping her against the mountain wall for stability. In fact, it was more for his sake than it was to keep her in place. He was beginning to shake with each fiery word that was released from her lips. The more upset she grew, the more Thorin wanted her. Comforting her brought him the greatest pleasure he had ever known, and he was ending all chance of their future together at that very moment. "If you left, I would no longer have to look at you. You would slip from my mind like an unimportant task and I could be free. You, Tormora… 'friend of the Elves', would no longer disturb me."_

_Tormora felt her knees grow weak. How could such a wicked man have a damaging effect on her? She did not know the answer, but she could not deny it. Thorin had a temper and it reached its peak when he was with her. As she stood there, looking directly into a gaze that echoed of the sea, she could not help but ask… "You would not miss me?" _

_Thorin's composure broke unwillingly. His hard mask shifted into something soft and desperate. She could see the shudder in his shoulders that used to occur before he took her in his arms. A flicker of desire crossed his lips, and he visibly leaned closer to her face as if he were going to brush his mouth against hers. He was trying to keep his rage in check, but the only thing stopping him was his yearning. It was fueling him. He was so disgusted with her, and for little to no reason at all. Thorin was the cruelest out of the two of them. She was nothing but courage and light. She made him a better man; her love prepared him to rule. But he no longer wanted to be a better man. He wanted to be an enemy of the Elves and an avenger of his kin. Tormora would be getting in the way of that. At least, that was what he was attempting to convince himself. _

"_I would not miss you even if I had not seen you for the rest of my days." Thorin's words were almost a spit as he whispered them into Tormora's ear. _

"_Very well," she whispered. Her eyes flickered away from him in a single swoop. Thorin was surprised by her calm nature. He wanted her to yell. He _needed _her to yell. It would make it easier to let her go. "I will leave with my father before the sun rises tomorrow morn." Her dirt-stained fingers plucked Thorin's hands from her shoulders with a strange emptiness. She was hollow inside. Hollow like the ruined halls of Dale. "… My Prince."_

_Tormora slid away as quietly as when Thorin had taken her. He was left with his hands grasping nothing but the chilled, mountain air. And for what? He had gotten what he wanted, did he not? Tormora had agreed to leave. He may never see her again and that was what he said he had wanted._

_What he truly wanted was to kiss her. He wanted to feel her smooth lips touching his own with a passion that only she fed to him. He wanted her to smile up at him with a desire twinkling in her eyes for more. Her hands had once been spread across his neck, lightly grabbing his skin in silent ecstasy, as the kisses grew deeper. Each one was secretive and romantic, rewriting Thorin's private life into some sort of youthful fantasy. He had loved every minute of it. He loved being admired, not by other races for his splendid piles of gold, but for _himself. _Tormora had yearned for his past, his present and his future, simply because she enjoyed his company. She was the most taunting beauty Thorin had ever seen, and though he had just spoken the opposite, he wanted nothing more than for her to stay. _

How could she want to be with someone so cruel? _Thorin asked this to himself as his head fell against the mountain with a groan of confusion. _How could anyone want a failed Prince who does nothing but let his people down?

_Well, it didn't matter 'how'. What mattered was that he had just shoved his only chance for a plentiful life as far away as he could manage. Deep down he knew he regretted it, but his heritage and obstinate characteristics would not let him follow her outside. _

_Tormora was leaving. Whether he, or anyone, liked it or not. _

The memory caused a sputter to come up in Thorin's throat. His darkened eyes squeezed shut in a silent plea for the Universe to let him sleep. The trouble was that he went through that struggle every night. Her image. Her scent. Her touch. She never left him. Tormora was inscribed into him like a ruin into wood. He could have lived without her for the rest of his life, and still she would haunt him on his deathbed. Thorin continued to beg for the Universe to release his soul from hers…

But the Universe had never listened.

~.~.~.~.~

**REVIEW PLEASE.**

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	4. Fit For A King

**So, I keep forgetting to do this, but I am dedicating this story to MisticLight, my best friend and editor. She helps me with so much of the LOTR information, whether it be names, history, times, etc. She's a huge LOTR expert and a great writer who gives advice whenever it is needed. I am very grateful to her and her help! Go check out her profile, especially for some more LOTR goodies as she has an AMAZING Legolas/OC story.**

**Okay. And you guys are incredible. I mean, your reviews are just so so so wonderful and I'm thrilled that you like the story! PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING. **

**No, really, please, or I won't update.**

**Heh.**

**I love you all too much.**

**~Mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

The Dwarves left the Shire with their chests bearing a regretful hole as large as Bilbo Baggins' front door. The whole evening seemed to have been a waste of time, with the exception of their feast, as the Hobbit had declined the burglar contract. Some worried that Gandalf's choice had been a silly one, while others took little note of losing Bilbo. Thorin, on the other hand, was sincerely grateful. The minute he laid eyes on the Hobbit he knew he was no hero. A sword, bow, or an axe had not fallen into his smooth palms in all of his fifty-or-so years. Fifty. _How youthful_, Thorin thought. He was nearing two hundred and was far more experienced with life's troubles than Bilbo was. _He would have only slowed us down. _

"What a waste of time!"

"Use of a Hobbit, he was…"

The Dwarves angrily expressed their annoyance as the ponies strode through the forest. "That's true enough!" Gloin made sure that his complaints were loud enough for the Wizard to hear.

"Do not take note of their irritation," Thorin spoke calmly to Gandalf. "They are likely to complain, but the Hobbit will be forgotten about by nightfall." The Wizard puffed his cheeks in displeasure, clearing not wishing to mention much more about the topic. Something was not right about Belladonna Took's son. Gandalf was certain Bilbo would agree to the treaty. Though it was not the first time Gandalf had been proven wrong, he was hoping the young Master Baggins would offer him a pleasant surprise by joining them.

"We are not yet far from the Shire," Gandalf mumbled mostly to himself. "There is still hope for Bilbo's appearance."

Thorin's thick brow rose at Gandalf's senseless hope. Hobbits tended to their crops, ate more than a cow's daily meal, and drank away their troubles. There were many races in Middle-Earth that did not know of their existence, or thought little of it. And yet, Gandalf believed in Bilbo Baggins. Though part of Thorin admired the Wizard, Gandalf had a way of making a man feel like he was worth something. No matter what size he was or which class he came from. Thorin could not understand why, but there was still a hidden admiration for such optimism.

Gandalf had been so consumed in his fear that Bilbo Baggins might actually keep in his hole, that he had not noticed the small differences within Thorin Oakenshield. It was only when he caught the Dwarf King staring at him incredulously that he paid closer attention. He held the same bitterness as he had years ago, but physically something struck him as surprising. "You continue to carry Deathless?"

Thorin's eyes darted towards his hip where a perfectly crafted Dwarvish sword rested upon the belt. Its handle was flawlessly polished and its blade without a crack. "Indeed." He tried to keep his voice calm, but it shook with distant memories. "It is a fine sword, despite its original bearings."

"If I remember correctly, that sword always meant very much to you." Gandalf's head fell to his shoulder knowingly. "_Including_ its bearings." Thorin's eyes darted away towards the trees. He needed to change the topic and he needed to do it quickly. If not, Gandalf was sure to bring up- "Tormora was the craftswoman, was she not? She created Deathless for King Thrór and his heirs during the celebration of the Arkenstone's finding." Gandalf knew it was the truth. Therefore, Thorin did not utter a word to inform the Wizard that he was correct.

"Like I said," Thorin mumbled. "It is a good sword." It was one of the few swords that Tór, Tordir, and Tormora had crafted without any Elvish influence. He did not despise the Elves at the time of the Arkenstone's finding, but he was proud to be a Dwarf on that day, and the sword was so majestic that he claimed it as his own.

The name of "Deathless" came at a later date. Thorin tried not to think about the day it had received its title. Tormora had already tormented his mind enough that day and it was hardly reaching noon. It turned out to be a lucky day for the King, as the Universe offered him a small distraction.

"Wait!"

Thorin's eyes shut at the high-pitched voice, his thoughts evaporating at the edges of his mind. The voice did not belong to Ori or Dori. It was not the neighing of a pony. That could only mean…

"_Wait!"_

He spun his pony around with a narrow slit of his eyes. There was no mistaking the Hobbit's maroon jacket that flapped violently against the emerald arms of the trees. A bitter taste arose in Thorin's throat, knowing that he would have to admit that he was wrong. The grin that spread across Bilbo's face said it all. The quickness of his pace and the determination in his eyes was not the same Hobbit they had left in Bag End. Something childish swam about Bilbo's character, and Thorin was fearful that Gandalf might have been right all along.

Bilbo's hand contained the contract, and he did not hesitate to pass it onto Balin. "I singed it!" He chuckled merrily. His hands found his hips in a stance of pride, but the extent of running nearly caused a collapse. A personal sigh of relief slipped from Gandalf's lips, whereas Thorin kept his mouth tightly sealed. If the Hobbit was indeed joining them, that was one more life he needed to protect. It was also unlikely that such a creature could outwit the wretched Smaug.

"Everything appears to be in order," Balin declared loudly for all to hear. "Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield." A few of the members muttered cheers of amusement. This was not because they were grateful for Bilbo's bipolar decisions, but rather because they had placed bets on his appearance. Some of the Dwarves would go to bed that night with their pockets weighing them down by well-earned coins.

Thorin's voice was deep when he finally spoke up. "Give him a pony."

Bilbo's arm outstretched as a barrier between the idea's reality and Thorin's suggestion. "No-no! That won't be necessary."

Thorin did not have time to listen to the rest of the conversation, for Gandalf was ready to prove himself right. "The unexpected often happens, Thorin Oakenshield." Thorin was not sure what hidden meaning lingered in the Wizard's words and he expressed his confusion with a scrunching of his thick brows. "Those who we lack faith in often surprise us. Those who we commonly doubt show their strength, and make us doubt ourselves instead." He gave a playful smile and made his way to the back of the group where Bilbo was being hauled unwillingly onto the pony, Myrtle.

But Thorin was too distracted with Gandalf's wise words to take note of celebration. As they walked on, he could not stop turning over his elder's voice in his head. _The unexpected… Those who we doubt… Those who we lack faith in…_

Surely he was speaking of Tormora. Thorin's heavy eyelids shut with weariness. Was he never to be free from her?

Hypothetically, what if she had made her own path? Thorin would not have been surprised to see her standing at the base of the Lonely Mountain, a slain Dragon behind her and a bloodied sword in her hand. She would look up at him with those twinkling eyes, send him a mocking kiss, and sit for a moment on the throne that would rightfully be hers.

Thorin would not have been surprised if that was indeed the way things turned out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Travelling far was not an issue for Tormora. Her strong legs could carry her across mountains if the right person had asked her to. Even in her dreams she would wander far from what she knew. And as she had gotten a safe amount of sleep during the first night of her journey, she was bothered to find herself feeling weary. Part of her believed it to be her age. She was nearly as old as Thorin, and he too was considered quite 'wise' with his years. Another part of her believed that not knowing where the Company was at the precise moment created doubt within her, and therefore slowed down her pace. However, she kept on, as she was taught to do in many aspects of life. Her time would come. Her glory could not be reached with unmoving feet.

The sun was hot on Tormora's heavily cloaked back and she was sweating profusely upon arrival in the heart of the Shire. With moist hands, she managed to tie her thick hair up atop her head. With her muddy boots and forest stench, not a single Hobbit dared to come near her. Any attempted smiles on her part were shot down with a turn of backs. It did not seem to bother the traveler, for she was used to such hostility.

There was one Hobbit willing to communicate with her after much badgering. He only spoke three words, but even a syllable would have been helpful at that stage.

"Another?" One whispered to his wife as they rolled a wheelbarrow of pumpkins down the path. Tormora heard his words and quickly made her way over to him, nearly startling him off the edge of the mossy hill.

"Excuse me sir, I do not mean to stop your farm work," she tried to smile again, but the man flickered his eyes away from her. "I overheard you saying something about 'another'. Has there been more like me in the Shire? They would be all men, and some very brusque." She was thinking of Dwalin, of course. Some Dwarves might have gone unnoticed, but Dwalin's stature and clambering footsteps were likely to draw attention.

"Yes," the man said quietly, trying to move further along the trail. His wife's feet moved quickly with what Tormora presumed was fear. She wanted to laugh at the idea. How could anyone be afraid of a Dwarf with no beard?

"Have they gone further into the woods? Possibly with a Hobbit from Bag End?"

The man began to continue on his way, but not without sending Tormora a final clue. "Yes!" There were a few hidden mumbles about hygiene and foreigners, but criticisms were something Tormora had accepted. In fact, they had become more comforting than a compliment over the years and she smiled widely as she rushed down the cobbled paths of the Shire.

Though her pace was hasty, she did not forget to take in the sights around her. The circular trees. The small gardens outside every house. Flowers of unknown origin, but with petals as pink as a newborn's lips. Tormora did not know the last time she would be able to see such a place. Such green. Such serenity. The trees towered above her like a shield against the Sun's dagger-like beams. It was difficult to recall when such beauty had presented itself, but when she thought deeply about it, it did not take long to remember.

~.~.~.~.~.~

_Thorin, son of Thráin, had cordially invited Tormora, daughter of Tordir, to the Kingdom of Erebor for battle practice. When Tormora had received the letter, it slipped straight from her hands as the sweat began to gather on her fingertips. Her father's jaw nearly snapped off, as it had hung low for nearly three hours. Her grandfather chuckled delicately and sent her a wink, as if the King was a matchmaker for his grandson. _

_Of course she could not refuse. Nor did she want to. She was nearly eighteen years old, young enough to enjoy the playfulness of dueling without worrying about real dangers such as the Rhûn forces. Instead, Thorin would teach her how to handle a blade correctly. And secretly she hoped that he would be interested in her line of work, so that she may offer him lessons in return. _

_Though it all seemed like an elaborate scheme by the King to find his grandson a wife, it was the young Prince who had suggested the idea in the first place. He had limited friends his age, and the girl seemed outgoing enough to not bore or praise him like his elders did. _

_So on a fine morning in the middle of summer in the year TA 2766, a seventeen-year-old Tormora met Prince Thorin for the third time. It had been nearly a year since her last appearance, but ever since the apple had been caught, every evening at supper it was hard not to forget her as a bowl of the red fruit was set before him. _

_When Tormora had made her way inside of the Great Hall, she found Thorin waiting for her expectantly. He was alone with the exception of a servant and Tormora could feel her cheeks burn with the sight of him. "Your Majesty," she said calmly, trying her best to curtsey. She fumbled with the presentation and played it off with a casual smile. "I must say that I am honored by the invitation." _

_Thorin only stared. She could not yet place her finger on his emotions, but his look did not seem entirely foreboding. It was only when he handed a sword to her that she managed to pick up on some of his characteristics: blunt, determined, regal, but not without a sense of spirit and youth within him. _

"_Your father tells me you can fight."_

"_Not as good as you, My Prince."_

_Thorin twisted the braided part of his beard between his thumb and forefinger. For a second she thought he might scold her on her formalities, but he made no comment as he took his own sword from the servant. Tormora held her breath as she noticed it was the very sword she had crafted. "Would you like to find out if that is true or not?" Thorin led her towards a minor door to the east. She was fearful of heading into such private territories, and awkwardly shuffled a few feet behind him. _

_Tormora had not expected their meeting to go as it was. She had put on her best dress that morning; deep purple linen with elegant knots and golden sleeves. The outfit was meant for conversation and dessert parties. Not duels with Princes. _

"_My Lord, I am not properly dressed-" _

_Thorin scanned her from head to toe as he halted by the door. She could feel her mouth grow dry as his gaze flickered across her body, but none of his looks__ were crude or intruding. "If you are as good as I have heard, then it should not cause a problem."_

_Tormora blushed with the minor compliment. Even if she was a good fighter, she knew that the dress would be her downfall. She gestured towards her dangling sleeves. "If you'll allow me…?" Thorin did not understand the question, but nodded regardless, swinging his sword into a perfect oval as he waited. Tormora quietly slid her sleeves to her shoulders, feeling embarrassed as her smooth flesh bared, but also far more comfortable and willing to fight. _

"_My shoes," she groaned with realization. She lifted up the hem of her dress, revealing heeled boots made of aging leather. _

"_Remove them."_

"_I'm… What?"_

"_Fight in your bare feet." _

_Tormora blinked in confusion, but followed the suggestion with relief. Upon removal, the cold rock floor stung her toes into a cool stance. She gritted her teeth against the freezing temperature, making sure her dress hid her small toes from the Prince's eyes. She was not looking directly at him, but that changed when laughter started to echo through the hall. "You are a strange Dwarf, Tormora." _

Tormora. _The way he said her name was almost as skillful as his swordplay… as if he had been practicing it all his life. He spoke the word so slowly; careful to make sure it lingered on his lips as the image of her suspended in his mind. Though the blacksmith could not tell, the Prince liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. He liked addressing her in person, rather than the blurred face he had often visited in his dreams. _

"_Follow me," Thorin continued with a push of the door. His eyes darted away from her face, which he embarrassingly found himself staring at. "We'll practice in the gardens." _

"_Sorry, where?" Tormora grinned as she followed him over the threshold. "For a moment, I thought you said gar-" Her words were cut short with the slamming of a door. The world of diamonds and precious stones was far behind her, for when she entered the room, a new kind of paradise spread its wings._

_Everything was alive. An indoor garden spread out before her to an end that could not be seen. Flowers of sapphire, magenta__, and gold__ flushed their way up towards an imaginary sun, their scent lingering in the air like a heavily sprayed perfume. Small trees lined the edge of the mountainous cave, their branches unmoving without a gust of wind to guide them. It was solitude. It was a heaven that Tormora had only seen in her desires, for Dale was a rustic city of towers without a kiss from nature. _

"_You enjoy it." Thorin's statement was not a question. He could tell that Tormora had never seen such a place in all of her years as her hands slid over the petals. "My father is an admirer of the outdoors, though he clearly dedicates his life to the mines of Erebor. My mother is perhaps the one who encouraged him to create this place. The dark walls of the mountain can become rather suffocating, though the wealth seems to contradict that. It's a bit arduous, but without sun, the flowers die and my father calls for new ones. He is that dedicated to the beauty of this haven."_

"_It is paradise," Tormora whispered, her bare feet sinking into moist dirt. She finally stopped and turned to face the Prince with a new kind of life in her ash eyes. She could have sworn his cheeks were rising in color, but there was no mockery in her soul as she noted his fluster. His face was framed perfectly by the autumnal leaves that hung behind him, while his dark features became emphasized in loveliness. Her own heart began to leap in her chest, and she grew startled as the King carefully approached her. His eyes were fixated perfectly onto hers like a turned key, and without looking back at the servant, he demanded the two be alone. _

_There was a moment of hesitation on the servant's part, but it did not take long for a quiet shutting of the door to be heard echoing across the gardens._

"_It seems a shame," Tormora mumbled without tearing their connection. "To fight in such a beautiful place."_

"_Think of it as practice," Thorin smiled. "If you step on one of the buds, then perhaps you are in need of better footing." _

_He had a point, and the two suddenly became immersed with the idea of a fair fight. The nature was momentarily forgotten as Thorin instructed Tormora into the correct stance. She swung her weapon into the air, her handling steady, but her slices not threatening enough. "You are focusing too much on your form and not enough on balance." Thorin gently took the wrist of her right arm and moved it more towards the center of her body. "If you can keep your balance you can aim or parry without so much as a cut on your arm."_

_Tormora did not normally like to be instructed, but she took Thorin's help gratefully and tried to find a better center of grounding. Thorin took a step back to look at her position. "Fast learner," he smirked. "For your information, these swords are blunted. If we come in contact, they should not bite." _

Right, _Tormora thought to herself. _Elbows bent and hugging my body. Do not flourish unnecessarily, even if you are trying to impress the Prince, for your back will be open and you can-

_She was surprised when Thorin made the first move without warning. His sword swung vertically towards her waist and she jumped back in surprise, too lost in her previous thoughts to scream. "Are you awake today, Tormora?" A twinkle sprung in Thorin's eye that had not been there for many moons. "Or was your mind perhaps somewhere else?" _

_Something about the way his lip curled into a smile made her knees go weak, providing him the opportunity to aim for her neck. She yelped in surprise, tumbling into a somersault on the earthen floor. She came back up with her dress stained, and Thorin instantly regretted his quick movements. _

"_I am sorry," he apologized, glancing at her unstitched hem. "I did not mean to-"_

_Tormora rushed forward, her steady sword aimed straight towards the Prince's shoulder. It hit him with an unexpected thud and Thorin stood up straighter in surprise. As Tormora dove in for another strike, their swords could be heard into the mines, clashing like fire and ice. _

"_It would seem that you are the one who is not paying attention." Tormora could not help but smile. She had not fought against anyone her age in all of her eighteen years, and the rush of a sturdy opponent was enough to make her forget conventionalisms. "My Prince," she quickly added with a smile. _

_Thorin could not manage a response. She stunned him to the point of no words, but he liked the lust for danger that lingered within her. To keep the situation heated, he swung towards her head, but she dodged it with a swift duck. Her feet moved swiftly to push him backwards, where a rock was certain to cause a tumble. "Do not think I did not notice it," Thorin said amusingly, jumping sideways to avoid the small hindrance. "You trick more than fight." _

_Tormora shrugged as their swords once again met in midair. "I do what I can." _

_There was more parrying, thrusting, and sweating as time clinked on. They could have been fighting for days and not bothered to care. Thorin was clearly the better swordsman, but he did not mind tossing out a few tips along the way. "When you believe a sword to be coming for your neck, do not duck, but try and reach your sword up towards their wrist. It will not only halt them, but also give you free range towards their stomach."_

_It did not take long for Tormora to put the advice into practice. As Thorin aimed towards her skull, Tormora sent a satisfying smack of her blade against his wrist. In a matter of seconds, the tip of her sword was planted on his throat without comprehension on his part. They paused, heavy breathing being the only sound in the frozen forest. "I said stomach. Not neck."_

"_Certainly the neck is more fatal than the stomach?" She struggled to get the words out as she gasped for air._

"_Indeed, but if my sword had been ready, you would already be dead."_

"_Dead?" Tormora chuckled. "That may be so. But as the maker of that sword, I can promise you that not a scratch will come upon it. It is simply… well, deathless." Her teeth spread into a wider grin. "Deathless. That would be a rather fitting name for it, wouldn't you agree?" _

_Thorin's only response was a quiet tilt of his head. If Tormora thought correctly there was some admiration within. Something was so private about the situation. So personal. A look of pain suddenly flickered across his face. He had hoped Tormora had not noticed, but the female Dwarf was far wiser than he knew. "My Lord…"_

_Thorin shut his eyes as he turned away from the girl. How could he pursue this? She was better than he had even suspected. Not only in swordfight, but also in her overall being. Her smile was like a match that warmed him: small and hardly noticeable, but with the possibility to grow. "I apologize," Thorin said as he dug the tip of his sword loosely into the ground. "My mind has escaped me."_

_Tormora bit on her bottom lip with nervous habit. What was she to say? Could she offer her advice to such a great Prince? "My liege…" She treaded carefully towards her question. "…Why have you invited me here today?" _

_The question threw Thorin off guard and he spun around with uncertainty planted on his face. His mouthed opened and closed with the possibility of answers, but none seemed to fit as well as silence. When he did finally speak, his voice was no longer regal. It was genuine, like that of a young man's. "I ask myself the same question, but always return without an answer." _

_Tormora offered a light smile. "Perhaps it is because you wish for a friend." _

_Thorin's eyes flickered in confusion. How could she know an answer about his soul that even he did not? "I have a younger sister and brother," Thorin explained slowly. "Both younger, but still dear to me. I cannot understand why I would long for anything else besides my family…" He did not mean to express his confusion so bluntly, but Tormora did not seem to mind. _

"_A sibling is a friend, but not in the way that someone unrelated may be. Someone that does not have your blood does not know everything about you, and it is the mystery of learning that is so… forgive the word… tempting." Tormora smiled as the Prince's face settled into something easier. "I have seen the men and woman who leave and enter this mountain. The Dwarves of Erebor are not youthful. It is rare for our kind to… mate…" She spoke the word with a tiny cough of embarrassment. "Therefore, you must lack in companions your age inside of this Kingdom." _

_Thorin sighed as he sat upon the rock. "I find myself acting like my father, or even my grandfather. I am large for my age, and heavily bearded." He gently ran his fingers through his wavy hair, lost in personal thoughts. "Some say that I have always been this way, but I can't believe that a Dwarf of twenty years should already be acting as if he were King." _

_Tormora was stunned into silence. She had not expected such a weighted confession. Thorin did not seem bitter about his royal heritage, but there was a youth in him that wanted to spring out. He wanted to play Kings and Knights, without actually having to worry about saving the maiden or an entire Kingdom. _

"_I will be your friend," Tormora said quietly. "If you so wish it." _

_Thorin's eyes slowly crawled up towards her. His body did not move a muscle, and his eyes pierced at her from behind his heavy brows. "You should not attach yourself to something that is not of interest to you."_

"_It is of interest to me," she spoke quickly. Her feet took her closer towards the Prince. He almost flinched away in her close range, but decided against it. "You are very kind to me, my Prince. I am a Dwarf who lives amongst Men. It is rare for me to find friends who understand my stubbornness and find beauty in stones. Most of the girls in Dale are interested in the braiding of flowers or knitting." She cracked a grin that was quickly matched by her listener. "I must be blunt and speak my mind; you would be a far better friend than any I have come along in my years." She gave a curtsey, this time perfectly stable. "I would be honored to have you." _

_Tormora was going to add the words 'as a friend' at the end of her sentence, but something stopped her. The word _friend _was almost bitter on her tongue, as if the term were not fitting for their relationship. Something dark flickered in her stomach as she thought of the King as more than a mere companion._

_Thorin nodded his head slowly, not picking up on the nerves that fluttered across Tormora's skin. "Very well. If that is the case, when shall we next meet?"_

"_I am working tomorrow. You are more than welcome to bring a servant and meet me in my family's shop so that I may teach you a bit of my work." Tormora was afraid that she was being too forward, but she had never learned the proper manners to address royalty. Thorin did not seem to take offense, considering his next words were as such:_

"_Then I shall see you tomorrow," his eyes darted away as an innocent smile passed his lips, "Tormora."_

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Instead of bitterness rising in Tormora's throat at the memory, there was a sadness that trickled through her gut. She could remember the day after their sword practice just as clearly. He had come into her shop with the eyes of Men following him, confused as to why such a presence would find himself in the blacksmith shop of Dale.

The day had continued easily. Thorin was a naturally quick learner, and he followed Tormora's orders well. Though he performed fairly, there was a desire in him to watch her work. He admired the strength in her arms as she brought down her hammer. Whenever a stray hair flew into her line of vision, he had to fight the urge to gingerly brush it back behind her ear.

When she worked, she did not dress like a woman, but rather wore her father's tunic and trousers. Her boots were still heeled, and Thorin could not help to tease her about her desire to keep a trace of femininity about her. "Woman have to remind men that their talent can be matched and even bested," she had said haughtily. "My heeled shoes are a sign to those passing that it is indeed a woman at work."

They got along splendidly, Thorin being the happiest that Tormora ever remembered him. Those next couple of weeks passed on easily as she continued to train in the halls of Erebor, and he in the crumbling facades of Dale. It was within those weeks that Tormora could not sleep; the thought of the young Prince weighing heavily on her mind and not with negativity.

During the third week of visits, Tormora awoke late in the evening. She was determined to thank him for everything he had given her: lessons, friendship, and a better understanding of her culture. The thought of a ring had passed her mind, and as she worked until the early hours of the morning, her craft had not have come out better.

It was the ring he wore with him every day onwards; the ring with the smooth silver cracks and charcoal polish underneath. Even after his affections for her turned into hatred with Smaug's attack, the ring continued to rest upon his finger.

As Tormora continued her journey across the Shire, she couldn't help but wonder if the token of her affections remained on his hand.

And if it did, could that mean he was thinking of her?


	5. Unreachable

**HEY GUYS. Back so soon? Why yes. Yes, I am. And thank you to the *cough* FOUR people who reviwed that time. Am I losing you guys or is this story just so jaw-dropping that you faint afterwards and don't remember to say anything? **

**At any rate, much love to the supporters. Hope you enjoy this chapter... ;)**

**(Yes, the winky face was a clue)**

**XXX,**

**Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Rest did not easily come that late spring evening for the travelling Dwarves. The night was unusually dark, and their campfire was small with the scarcity of wood. Fili and Kili kept warm by the trickling flames, while Bilbo, Balin and Gandalf let their thoughts carry them into untold memories.

Thorin was halfway into sleep, but his mind could not submit itself to dreams. It was not Tormora who dared to enter his sleep that night, but rather his brother Frerin, during the Battle of Azanulbizar that tormented him. Two dead: Frerin and Thrór. One missing: Thráin. He wanted to stay awake forever to hide from the torment that found him in his sleep, but his body refused the simple request. And though his eyelids drooped with the burning sensation of sleep, his eyes continued to listen.

There was a minor noise in the distance, but within his drowsy state, Thorin deemed it a Wolf's call and let his head sink further onto his chest.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked quietly, crouching low in case someone threatening caught sight of him.

Kili did not waste to opportunity to tease their new member. He enjoyed the Hobbit's company, but Bilbo needed to become brave. Kili's lessons were only beginning. Putting on the most eerie whisper he could, the young dwarf spoke softly to Bilbo. "Orcs."

What he did not realize was that his words startled others as well. Thorin's body flung up from the rock in a matter of seconds. His nephew's warning stirred him back into reality as his mind began to function and his muscles were taught and ready for anything,

"Orcs?" Bilbo asked with surprise, and not without a trace of fear.

"Throat-cutters." Fili nodded as his gaze passed over the edge of the cliff. He knew very well the joke his brother was pulling. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are_ crawling_ with them."

Thorin stood up with his hand tightly gripping Deathless. A night raid by Orcs was the last thing he needed so early in their journey, but like his nephew had said; there was always a possibility of an attack. He looked to his kin for battle preparation, but when Kili's lips curled into nothing more than a smile, he wanted to curse himself for being so foolish.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood." Kili added the words for extra horror. His eyes darted about wildly to instill fear in the young Hobbit.

Thorin could not take the mimicry. His eyes rolled in annoyance by the naivety of the brothers, and not without a hint of disappointment. "You think that's funny?" He growled. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" The fact that he had only just been dreaming of such terrible creatures made the brothers' humor far less appealing.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili said with a drop of his head.

Thorin knew how Kili strived to be great. There was a great warrior within him, but his light heart and playful manner often got in the way of becoming the hero he so longed to be. Though he wanted to be a comforting Uncle, Thorin's Dwarvish stubbornness could not go unheeded. "No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world."

Thorin was not afraid to show that he was sulking. His heavy shoulders helped guide him to the edge with sourness, every step reminding him or a friend or kin he lost in Azanulbizar. As he stared out into the night, he noticed something unsettling. The world looked so different since the last time he had crossed it, and it frightened him to know the troubles that undoubtedly lied ahead.

As his eyes scaled over the rocky edge, he thought he saw a rustle of the trees across the valley. Balin was beginning to explain Thorin's bitterness against the Orcs, but it did not take long for the King to tune out his cousin's voice. How could he listen to the tale of Azanulbizar like it was folklore? He had lived it. He had lost his brother, his father and his grandfather in a matter of minutes. In his mind that was not a story worth telling.

However, the harder Thorin tried to block out the words, the more Balin's descriptions came flooding back into his brain. The memory of battle shook all five of his senses like an unexpected wind. The heat of the fires. The taste of the salt coming off the sweat that rested on his upper lip. The sound of his men dying, praying, crying, shouting all around him. The sight of his frozen feet not being able to help them in their suffering. The feel of his sword clenched tightly in his fist, ready to strike at all who dared face him.

The memories were far from pleasant. His mind tried to escape by recalling the good times after the Battle, but only one came back clearly. His travels back to the Blue Mountains after Moria's battle.

As a newly formed King-in-exile marched his way the way back from battle, it did not take long to confess to himself that he was broken inside. Tears spilled from his eyes when he was in the solitude of his chambers. Thorin's heart was bleeding constantly with pain, while the stench of death and greed flooded his nose at every turn.

He was dying inside of himself, though his flesh stayed strong. Emotionally, he was suffocating… Life had seen his honor and spat it back into his face. If he did not help himself, he could be of no help to his people.

There was only one way he had known how to fix it.

~.~.~.~.~.~

_Tormora had been in the south for nearly twenty years. She wanted to despise Thorin, but her quiet life across the river was better than a ghost life in Dale. It had taken her a decade to rid herself of the hate she bore for him; Life was too precious to harbor so much anger. Tormora could still be grateful that she was in a safe home with her father. And though she could never admit it to anyone, she dreamed of living with the Elves she had met in her youth, knowing that they would welcome her with more warmth than her own kind had offered her. _

_She had gone up North every other month to visit Bofur for the weekend. He had become her ally, her best friend, and her special confidant. She often visited with a heavy heart, sharing her news of her father's deterioration or the burden of living so far from enjoyable civilization. Though she came to him with regret, she left Bofur's home feeling light as a feather… and a bit intoxicated from his brandy, but never bad enough to not remember the laughs and songs they shared. _

_Thorin and a large group of men from each Dwarvish ancestral line had recently marched over to the Eastern Gate of Moria, as an attempt to reclaim the Kingdom of Moria from the Orcs. Tormora had heard the news a week after their leave and had been ill at ease ever since. She wanted to meet with Bofur to discuss the gossip with him, but the winter was coming and she needed to work as often as possible to save up for bread, cheese, and extra blankets for her father. _

_Going to Moria was a death wish. Tormora knew that and was not afraid to speak it clearly on the streets. The Dwarves were not as strong as they once were. Not only was their strength lacking, but she had also heard many tales of the ruthlessness of Orcs. And there were _many _Orcs with their eyes set on Moria. Orcs that would like nothing better than to slaughter thousands of Dwarves for mere amusement. _

_It had been three weeks since the departure of the envoys. There had been no news in the Southern Blue Mountains of their victory or defeat. Night after night, Tormora slept only when her body collapsed. If she could help it, her hands blistered with the continuous making of unwanted swords._

_On a particular autumn evening, three weeks after the Dwarves had left for battle, Tormora found herself wide awake. Her father had gone to bed early, his body frail after the attack of Smaug. The rest of the residents in the small village were also in their beds, or simply ignoring her taciturn presence. She did not mind their stares. Her world was often filled with silence and another night of it would make no difference. _

_She swung her hammer heavily onto a belt buckle. It was simple; a gift for a local tailor who had been kind enough to repair one of her old dresses. Smithing was the only form of distraction and she was grateful for her remote workshop. _

_Turning her back to reach for her pliers, her hand stopped as a crunching sound rung out on the road behind her. Her fingers tightened around the cold metal handles with fear of the unknown. Suddenly she was worried. Not afraid, for she was a Dwarf and fear was a useless trait, but something familiar lingered in that crunch of gravel and Tormora could not encourage herself to make it known. _

_Not a word was uttered. If he was not going to make himself known, Tormora would have to be ready in case his greeting came with a price. She would spin around, snatch the burning buckle from the anvil and trust it into the intruder's face. In three seconds, the mysterious man would be revealed. And he would regret his decision to startle her. _

_Three… _

_Tormora tightened her grip on her makeshift weapon. She had to stay steady._

_Two…_

_The sweat gathering on her palms threatened to drop the pliers. Tormora cursed to herself. _Calm yourself.

_One…_

_It did not matter. There was no time change her mind. _

_Tormora spun around quickly, following her attack plan in order. She snatched the fiery buckle from its spot, sticking it out firmly in front of her. Flakes of burning snow trickled to the dirt beneath her in silent doom. She did not manage to hit anyone, as the shadowy figure kept a few feet away. "Stay back! You are intruding private grounds!" _

_Still, the man did not let his voice be known. Tormora tried to make out his appearance, but with the moon behind him, he looked like nothing more than a rock. She tried her best to deduct traits from his outline. His stance was large and stocky… the mannerism of a Dwarf. His eyes were hidden. His clothes were tattered. His shoulders were slumped with unfamiliarity. Except…_

_Except._

_The hair. Waves of simplicity could easily be seen against the moon's curvaceous silhouette. Strands of hair blew in the gentle wind, and for a second Tormora let her stance falter. The man took this as an opportunity to step closer, into the light of the fire, so that she may see his face. _

It cannot be, _Tormora thought to herself. _In Durin's name, let my eyes mistake me.

_Thorin, son of Thráin, was standing a mere four feet away from Tormora, daughter of Tordir. She had to remind herself of formalities, as they had not seen one another for twenty years. He did not look like a Prince any longer, but those azure eyes were unmistakable. His gaze pleaded mercy in the silence, the color of them more piercing as his face was darkened by soot, dirt and sweat. His soul only spoke of two emotions: heartache and regret. _

"_Azanulbizar…"_ _The word fell from her lips in horror as she suddenly remembered where he had been. The state of his appearance suggested that upon his return, he had not returned to the North at all. He must have split from the group to visit her privately, though Tormora could not have guessed why. "Thorin…" _

_Tormora set the hot metal back onto the anvil; her hands now free to hold. Thorin did not reach for them, mainly because he did not believe he had the strength. Tormora wanted to punch at his chest in fury, to tell him to leave her new home, but she could not. If her thoughts were correct, his family was dead. He was now the King. She could not command a King to leave. For Kings did as they pleased, and Thorin clearly desired to be with her. _

"_Let me…" Tormora struggled to speak to him as questions dared to be spoken. The thought caused her to forget her thoughts and she stumbled over her words like cracks in the road. "Let me clean up some things. I have a waterskin in the shed, if you'd like to…" She shrugged, tugging at the ribbon in her hair to keep the hair standing up on her neck hidden. Her hair landed beautifully past her shoulders like a black wave in the darkest of seas, but Thorin did not outwardly react. "I presumed you may be thirsty, or am I wrong in my assumption…?" _

_Thorin did not even try to speak. The only movement he gave was the grabbing of her workbench, as his eyes drooped heavily with sleep deprivation. Tormora was fearful that he would fall, but he kept himself stable. As he always had. _

"_Please, come to the shed," she gestured. She walked outside of the hut and towards the back, where the rest of her tools rested beneath the moonbeams. "I have some water, bread and fresh clothes tucked back here." With her shoulder, she gave the door a firm shove, its creaking silent enough to keep the King's presence unknown. _

_She heard Thorin come in quietly behind her. Fearful of meeting his eyes, she fumbled around the darkness for light. "Let's see… I think I put a candle down here somewhere…" Searching around the bottom shelf, she finally felt something smooth and thin between her fingers. "Here we are." She shakily lit a match, its light revealing more than she had expected. _

_Their bodies were far closer than anticipated. Though the air was cold, Tormora could not help to suddenly break into a sweat at the sight of him. He watched her carefully, as if she would slip from his sight and never return. Something shook beneath his heavy furs, but it was only his hands. They struggled to not take her into his arms and regain that lost feeling of complete bliss; a feeling he experienced solely with her. _

_Tormora, on the other hand, let her feelings flow out naturally. How could she not worry about him? He was shaking worse than the cold demanded. His eyes were frozen, as if lost in the battle that had taken his soul. Confusion and regret lingered alongside the dirt on his face. Thorin's personality had changed many times over the years: Prince, Friend, Lover, Enemy… but Tormora was fearful of what he had now become. _

_Ghost._

_Desperately in need of normality, Tormora set her candle back on the shelf. Her hand reached for his cheek to rub off some of the dirt, but she thought against it and paused with her fingers suspended. Her head shook slowly with remorse. When she spoke to again, Thorin was reassured that his only chance at happiness was standing before him. He wanted nothing but her, as he had from the beginning. "You tormented soul…" Her fingers finally broke the gap and brushed gently against his cheek, the heat of his skin sending a trail of yearning back into her. "What sort of Hell have you been living?" Tormora was surprised to receive an answer._

_She had not expected it to be without words. _

_All thoughts of worry trickled away as firm fingers found their way on both sides of Tormora's face. Her lips spread in surprise as a familiar pair silenced her gasp. Thorin could not hold himself back any longer. His lips betrayed him and met hers with such natural ease that it frightened him. Twenty years and she was still beautiful. Tired, and paler, but with a rare and loving heart buried beneath her Dwarvish exterior. Tormora was the last goodness he had in the World, and Azanulbizar reminded him that abandoning her had been a mistake. A terrible, disastrous mistake. _

_He could hardly restrain himself when Tormora whispered that question. That ignorant question. What kind of Hell had he been living in? Everything had been Hell without her._

_He let himself take her in his arms without care as to who saw. Life sprung back into him when he felt the gentle curve of her waist beneath his fingertips. Her stature crumbled as their lips met, but the shudder that swam across her skin assured him that his gestures were not unwelcome. With a heavy sigh, Thorin broke the kiss, only to moan and meet her lips once again with desperation. Why? Why had he let their separation linger on? _

_With an unstable desire, Thorin could not help the force that flooded within him. His arms shoved Tormora against a nearby wall, the stability needed with his shaking body. His mouth parted to make way for her tongue, which longed to taste him once more. Twenty years. Twenty years since a kiss. There had been so many before that. Pressed up against the trees of Erebor's garden. Silently behind the curtain of her blacksmith shop. There was even the kiss within the kitchen pantry during a formal ball. Where had that youthfulness gone? _

_It had left him the same day that she had._

_Tormora's hands flew around Thorin's neck. She pulled him further into her, the heat of his chest matching that of her own. Every inch of him became familiar once again. She let her fingers dance through his thick hair with silent murmurs of longing falling from her lips. _

"_Tormora…" Apologies traced the edges of every syllable. His hands slid down her shoulders, over the bare skin of her wrists, and down to her hands that rested on his neck. He squeezed them tightly, hoping that his regrets were clearly expressed._

_There was a second of split silence and she froze suddenly, breaking their connection. Thorin let his eyes crack open with surprise, his heart still pumping blood to every crevice of his body. Her look twisted into something dark, something challenging, and before he could understand, a firm hand found itself roughly against his cheek. He did not wince at her sudden hit, but the stinging on his skin was undeniable. _

"_You dare to slap your King?" _

_Things were suddenly returning to the way they had gotten used to. _

"_I dare to slap a King that broke my heart!" Tormora snapped in fury. Her hands shoved at his chest in anger. "Twenty years ago, you pushed me away as if I was rotten meat at your table. You stole me from my friends. You brought the burden of banishment upon my sickly father," she struggled to hold back tears. "Everything you did was with certainly and with spite. Yet, you have the nerve to show up in my home, and tear it all down with a fantasy of what could have been?" She shook her head fervently back and forth, her black hair slashing wildly about. "You made your choice long ago, Thorin, son of Thráin. You have rejected me."_

"_My choices were wrong." He took a step closer towards her, weakness appearing in his irises. "I am now a King-in-exile and not with pride. I watched my grandfather die, my brother alongside him. My father is nowhere to be found. My sister is all I am left with, and she is too struck by grief to even face me." Thorin's face burnt with anger, the heat nearly suffocating Tormora in the tiny space. "When I walked away from that battlefield, I was haunted by the fact that I had chosen to fight that war. My choices have been wrong before, Tormora. And leaving you was one of them."_

_Tormora had heard him speak passionately before, but she could not help to give herself a moment of silence to replay them in her head. Nervously, her fingers found her hair. Did she dare speak what was on her mind? If she did not, there would be no hope for peace within her soul. Tears stung at her eyes, and with the forthcoming confession, she let them fall openly. "I loved you… My heart was not easily given and I chose the one man who longed to break it." _

_Thorin's heart shattered like glass; breaking under the weight of emotional fragility. Back in Erebor, he would hear her voice whispering of love while he tumbled into sleep. Recollections of her murmuring those three words distracted him from court duties. As the years passed and his own feelings turned to stone, the memory of her affection was lost, and she along with it. Hearing her speak the word of love once again, albeit in the past tense, nearly drove him to tears of fury. He was losing her._

"_Tormora-" _

"_I loved you, and you did not care for me-" _

"_You know that is not the truth."_

_Tormora looked over her shoulder with a fiery gaze. "If it is not the truth and yet you continued to treat me the way you did, then I am fearful for the next woman whose heart you steal-" _

"_There will not be another woman!" Thorin's voice rose, but not with anger. He had managed to destroy a future with Tormora, and piecing it back together with animosity was not the right way to go about it. She needed to listen to his words, but the stubborn Prince had never learned how to properly express himself. His only way of getting attention was by raising his voice and showing his status._

"_Leave me." _

_Thorin's shoulders fell in defeat. He did not think his heart could break even more, but her order had just proved him wrong. "Excuse me?" _

"_I said leave." Tormora faced him proudly. She was not afraid to keep her back straight, her chin up and her eyes narrowed. She was also not afraid of letting her tears fall, or showing him that weakness was another sign of courage. "You have the right to exile me in your home, and now I am taking the advantage of doing the same." _

"_You are ordering me to leave?" He took a step forward with disbelief._

"_I believe my request was perfectly executed." _

"_You are telling me that you do not want me?"_

_Tormora bit her lip. That was not exactly what she had meant. _

"_I have come far to see you," Thorin pleaded. "To make my errors known in an attempt to alter their existence." _

_She could not help but let a tear fall as his troubled face. He had lost nearly his entire family. What kind of monster was she to be saying such things? But she could not help her persistence. She was a Dwarf. Unfortunately it was her nature, but she also could not handle more heartache. "You can apologize and I will accept it." Her voice cracked under the strain of repressed sobs. "But you, Thorin, King Under the Mountain, have torn my heart in two and I cannot wait for you to mend it."_

_Thorin's unsteady voice struggled to beg any further. "Tormora, please-"_

_She reached for something on a nearby rack. Her trembling hands thrust it into his gut where it waited to be received. Thorin looked down to see a waterskin, the moisture soaking straight through the flesh and onto his tunic. It rested against his ribcage, and the dark stain gave off the illusion of a stabbed heart. _

_He had lost. Tormora did not want him. _

_He accepted her graciousness, but only on the exterior. Inside, he could have sworn he was losing breath. Losing life. All of his emotions were in tact, but in that moment, Thorin swore to never love again. Tormora was the lemon of the fruits; bitter, but tempting. If he could not take care of Tormora, he did not deserve another. For she was all that was good in his world, and he had ruined both of their lives with his cruelty. She was his first and his last. He would take his love for her to his grave. _

_Thorin left without a farewell, not knowing when they would next meet. Tormora might have done the same, but the falling of her teardrops on the mossy ground spoke what her lips could not. _

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thorin was snapped back into reality. When he turned from the cliff's edge, all members of his Company watched him with wonder. He gave them all a slight smile, knowing they had heard the tale of Azanulbizar. If they knew what memories truly laid within his mind, they might not have followed him to Erebor. A woman was not exactly something he should have been dwelling on.

There was little he could add onto Balin's story, but when Bilbo spoke up, the old anger reappeared inside him. "But the pale Orc?" Bilbo questioned nervously. "What happened to him?"

Thorin took the heartbreak he felt at his previous memory and spat it back towards the mention of Azog. "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Thorin made his way back over towards his makeshift bed. He turned his back to the others before dozing off into his slumber. Speaking of war was not a good way to fall into dreams. "Get some rest," he spoke. "We have much walking tomorrow, and the skies do not seem to be keeping the rain at bay."

The men began to mumble and make their way back to their dreams of glory and bearded maidens. Thorin was still shaken by that horrible memory of Tormora, but something inside of him sparked when he remembered the touch of her lips. He was so certain that would be the last time they met.

He had been pleasantly surprised.

She often came north to visit Bofur after their regretful encounter. There had been passed criticism, regretful looks, unrestrained caresses, and bitter farewells passed between them on numerous amounts of her trips. They could not seem to get enough of one another. Hatred turned into desire. Love was forgotten and replaced with anger once again. He could not explain it. It was as if they would despise one another for the rest of their years. That is, unless they could be together. Completely and utterly together without war, family or heartache on their minds. They could not be together unless they married and were one.

Thorin grunted and pulled his jacket more tightly around him. Those thoughts no longer mattered. Not only did his refusal to let Tormora join the Company ruin their future forever, but Time mocked him as he grew closer to his end. Wives were of little importance. A family with her was no longer possible.

But deep inside his heart, Thorin could her Time's voice whispering that it was not yet over.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Thank you for the kind four reviews I got last chapter. Let's see more this time, shall we? I hope you're all enjoying it…**

**BECAUSE YOU'LL DEFINITELY ENJOY THE NEXT CHAPTER.**

**To be continued… ;) **

**(Yes, the next chapter is what you've all been waiting for.) **


	6. The Woods

**WOAH-HO-HO! Didn't expect that many reviews, but I'm certainly not complaining! I don't have much to say right now except THANK YOU VERY MUCH and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!**

**LOVE YOU GUYS MORE THAN CHOCOLATE.**

**Well, maybe that's taking it a step too far.**

**~Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Rain. Many in Middle-Earth were bothered by such weather, as it often came when least desired. Rain helped the flora and fauna grow, but it was never preferable to a sunny day. There was one, however, in Middle-Earth who was quite pleased to see the storm clouds rumbling in the sky on that early May morning.

Rain was what kept Tormora going. Most travellers would stop if they awoke to a storm, preferring to find shelter under heavy trees or a nearby town. Not Tormora. If it were raining, that meant Thorin and his Company were most likely slowing down.

She would be gaining on them.

The thought put a smile on her face and a rush in her feet. She had finally gotten away from Shire territory the previous evening, making it clear that there was no turning back. Tossing and turning all night with the thought of the Company's closeness encouraged her to get out of bed without rest. She had gotten a merely hour of sleep, but with the nightmares that often haunted her, leaving rest behind was acceptable.

Storm clouds continued to crackle overhead as she made her way around the bottom of a rocky cliff. As her feet took her further into unexplored territory, a path was beginning to make itself known. The gently fading remains of pony hooves put thrill in her soul and a cheer on her lips.

The hooves were too small to belong to a grown horse, with the exception of one: Gandalf the Gray's. They could only belong to the Dwarves. Filling up with anticipation, Tormora tried to keep her pace steady. She still wanted to meet them in Rivendell, which meant that she had to be careful not to come face-to-face with them on the open road. With the realization that they may be closer than anticipated, Tormora raised her Elvish hood to hide the distinct features of her hairless face.

Thankfully, her legs were sore from her trek through the Bottom Downs, and her pace was easy to halt. Trollshaw was only a few miles ahead, which meant that Rivendell no more than a week's travel away.

Tormora scuffed her soggy boots along the muddied Earth, allowing her breathing to settle. The rain began to fall heavier with each step until all that lay before her was barred by a downpour of droplets. Making sure to keep her weapons dry behind her cloak, Tormora found protection in a nearby forest.

As she continued to walk on in peace, the only sound besides rain was the growling of her own stomach. Her food was practically useless at that point as the downpour soaked her sheepskin rucksack to the core. It would have been best to discard her useless baggage rather than try to salvage soggy bread. Her bow would no doubt be flimsy with the water, but there was always the gratefulness that her sword was still in tact. Catching a rabbit on a rainy day was not entirely probable, but the hunger kept her ears tuned for any hopping.

Time went on. The forest spoke gently with the trapped raindrops hitting the high-above branches, but the rest of the world seemed mute. Her eyes began to droop as the stamina that was flooded through her began to disperse. She even stopped in her tracks to reach a deep yawn, enjoying the satisfying breath that filled up her body.

She spoke to herself amusedly. _I should have stopped somewhere dry. _

But it was not _only_ her voice that was speaking.

Something muted, but not soft enough to go unheard, rang out in the bordering trees. "… Can't you do something about this deluge?" It was the voice of a man, though high and filled with complaint. Part of her recognized it, but only for a split moment before it vanished into worry. The recognition was not nearly enough to convince her that it was anything more than the singing of the wind. At least, that was what she had hoped it to be.

Dashing like a deer in fear of attack, Tormora scoped out a spot behind a heavy Oak. It was not nearly thin enough for her wooly fabrics, and even in the rain, an enemy she could be spotted if an attacker desired to find her. It was the first trouble she had come across on the open road. She would be ready. Whoever was in her path would wish they hadn't set their sights on her.

Rain or not, she was up for a fight. She flung the bow off from her shoulder, keeping it tucked closely towards her chest as she waited.

Waited for a sign.

Waited for something other than silence.

And if Tormora had learned anything in her many years, it was that silence was the worst sign of them all.

Without a second to comprehend her footing, a loud battle cry rung out in her left ear. Tormora's head shot instantly in its direction; she had not heard her attacker approach and was far less prepared than she should have been. Tormora stumbled backwards and into a smooth somersault as a sword threateningly swung towards her chest. It was a quick slice, swift and double-handed.

_That swing of his sword… _A nervous bump rose in Tormora's throat. _I've only ever seen one man use such a move… _

While fumbling to get up, Tormora at least managed to set her bow and arrow at a ready position. Her attacker was hardly visible through the sheets of rain, but his anger was quite distinct. Could he not see that she was harmless? She was a female Dwarf for Durin's sake. And one without a beard! Certainly they should have been worried if she was an elf, but-

_My robe! _She thought darkly. _It is an elven cloak. They must think that I'm from Rivendell. _

Tormora tried to explain that she came in peace, but upon realization that the man was charging towards her, she could not even manage to let loose a single word. Tormora let loose her arrow. It went whizzing past the man's ear, the wind supplying a different destiny for her aggressor.

Tormora had no choice but to run. The man reached to grip the edge of her cloak, but Tormora was small and fast. Knowing that her bewilderment was her downfall, she tried to remain calm as she rushed further on ahead. The bow was all but useless to her now, but her sword was always there for her.

Reaching down to grab her Dwarvish blade, Tormora was unexpectedly hurtled forward. A foot went flying onto her spine, sending a shockwave of pain to the ends of her toes. She was sent flying into the dirt without a chance to stabilize herself, twigs and stones cutting up her smooth face. She groaned in dismay. The realization that she had been defeated was far more upsetting than the pain.

Gasping for air, and trying to get her weary body to fight back, Tormora was hauled up from the ground by a pair of rough hands. They clasped the collar of her hood tightly in their fingers, being careful not to let her go. She could not see the outline of his face, but his short stature made it clear that he was a Dwarf. There was no denying it.

The rough hands moved to the edges of her hood. In seconds he would know her. Tormora shut her eyes in fear, trepidation, and some sort of misplaced bliss. She was going to regret not sleeping. He was going to regret taking off her hood.

With a swift flick of the wrist, all was revealed. The olive hood fell gently around Tormora's shoulders, allowing for the rain to soak her dark hair into the color of extreme darkness. A gentle and feminine face stared up at its attacker with no trace of emotion. There was no hurt, no surprise, and no guilt. Tormora kept completely still, with the exception of the steam of blood trickling down her forehead.

"_You_."

Bitterness. That was all that lay in the single word as it was spoken. Tormora should have known that he would be so unforgiving. She waited for a long string of verbal abuse, but nothing of the sort came. Thorin Oakenshield's only word was 'you' and it had left Tormora with more fear than anything else she had imagined.

And though she could feel every inch of her body shaking in the presence of her King, her eyes were unafraid to stay steady. They met his with fiery determination. They whispered without blinking, _You will not tear me down._ Thorin met the look with equal willpower, but for a mere second, there was a fault in his stern nature. She could not read it, but it was there: joy to look upon her once again.

Before either could get another word out, a different set of feet appeared in Tormora's line of vision. Her eyes darted swiftly to the right of Thorin, where an entirely more friendly face appeared. "Tormora…?" The extreme shock that lined Bofur's face turned to instant happiness when he realized it was his she. His arms reached out with disbelief, only having the desire to embrace her on his mind.

Tormora could not resist matching his widespread grin. She wrapped her friend in her arms, holding him tightly to her with warmth of familiarity. Though he was small and unarmed, he was suddenly her shield. He would block out the cold gaze of Thorin Oakenshield, and keep her happy in his arms. She let her eyes close in the nearness of him, feeling safe and protected by a simple gesture. When she finally spoke, it was a struggle for her words not to crack under invisible tears. "I have missed you, my friend."

Bofur broke the hug, but outstretched his arms on her shoulders to get a better look. Blood was washed from her cheeks by the rain, and all he could see was her beauty. Her determination. Her willfulness. He knew she would come.

"I want you to make something clear to me."

Tormora and Bofur both turned their heads towards their speaker. Thorin's face was now crinkled with disgust, but his eyes were now fixated on Bofur. "What I find rather strange is just exactly how Tormora managed to find our path so easily. How could she have known where to go when I don't ever recall mentioning our plans to her?" Bofur's head dropped in defeat. No one else in the Company was close to Tormora. All signs pointed to him, and rightly so. Thorin growled in annoyance. "I should have known."

"Don't blame Bofur," Tormora said with a defiant step forward. "He told me of your path, this is true. And yet it was I who decided to act upon his directions. Bofur was merely helping me." Her eyes narrowed, tiny droplets of settling rain tumbling from her long lashes. "Bofur merely had a heart."

Thorin's eyes shot over towards the toymaking Dwarf, disapproval etched in every blink. "His first mistake."

Tormora was devastated by how things had come to be. Rivendell would have calmed the Company. They may have accepted her presence by that point. Meeting them on the borders of Trollshaw was only asking for aggression. There was still a safe distance to the Blue Mountains, and Tormora feared that Thorin would send her back. She started to imagine many different scenarios of what could happen next, and all seemed to end with her dismissal.

"We're wasting time," Thorin's voice broke her thoughts. "We must keep going." His eyes dared her to look away from her, but she kept her gaze tasteful and gentle. She would not allow Thorin Oakenshield to fuel her rage any longer.

"But…" Ori's voice spoke up from the sidelines. "We haven't got any more ponies!" Tormora knew the rest of the men were watching her, but she didn't have the heart to face them. Surely some were confused, others angered, and perhaps a rare Dwarf or two were quite pleased. Not looking at them helped her imagine the latter.

"She can ride with me," Bofur said quickly. "I've got enough room to-"

A deep order from Thorin silenced him. "No. She will be riding with me. She has caused enough trouble for one day and keeping her out of my sight is the last thing I wish to do." Thorin took his leave, making his way back over to his pony. Bofur gave Tormora's arm a soft squeeze, as if to tell her that things would be okay. Things would work out in the end. Tormora was soon left alone with her thoughts as Bofur quietly made his way back to his steed. She knew how desperately he wished to speak to her, but they would have time for that later.

First, she had to deal with Thorin. He pulled his pony swiftly up beside her, his hand remaining on the reigns in an obvious rejecting of helping her mount herself. "Are you pleased with your decision?" He asked gruffly, his voice only soft enough for her own ears to catch.

"Highly. Are you pleased that I have found my way back to you?"

Thorin leaned down from atop his pony, making sure that his words were carefully enunciated. "If you have come here to reunite with me, you have been wasting your time."

Tormora's only response was a quiet bite of her lip. She could taste the salt from dried blood lingering on her pink lips, and all she could think of was how awful she must have looked. Hauling herself up on his pony without a struggle, she was glad to turn her back to him in order to hide her features.

The horse was gently kicked into a steady walk, the pace too slow and daunting for the both of them. Tormora was holding her breath with the nerves that were forming on her skin. Her back gently bumped into his chest each time the pony took a step, and she was fearful that their contact would only cause him to become more irate. His hands reached over her sides to grip the reigns, and every now and then he would rub her ribcage with his forearm. He did not try to widen his hold in order not to touch her, but she could feel the heat of anger rising off his skin with every brush.

She was mistaken. There was no heated anger left within him. When he spotted her from across the way, he believed her to be an Elf. That was when the anger had hit him. An Elf so far from their borders? He presumed they were spying, and that was something he would not accept.

It was when he had flicked back the hood of her cloak that his anger had turned to passion, and then passion into misery. She was not supposed to be there. She was supposed to be somewhere safe, warm, and homely. That was the real reason he did not want her on his quest. He wanted to protect her. He had lost nearly everything that was dear to him in his world, and she was what counted most.

If Tormora came on the quest, she was in danger of death.

And with Tormora's death would come the breaking of Thorin's heart.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Three miles of open forests had gone by and no one had managed to utter a word to the new addition to their group. Gandalf began to speak openly to Tormora at one point, but was swiftly silenced into a cough by a glare from Thorin. Though she had hundreds of questions to ask, Tormora kept her mouth sealed.

The silence was pressing Tormora to finish the little amount of sleep she had gotten the night before. Her eyes were trying their hardest to keep themselves peeled, but as her cuts hardened into bruises, her pain urged her into a slumber. She could feel her body leaning forward without consciousness and did not stop it from tumbling.

Thorin's arm rushed to wrap itself around her waist. He pulled her roughly back onto his chest, as her head fell heavily into the crook of his neck. "Don't," he said softly in her ear. Though she was not entirely awake, Tormora thought his voice sounded gentler than before. "You're going to fall off the horse."

"Perhaps… We should…" She struggled to find words with her fatigue. "Camp…"

"In due time," Thorin replied. "We cannot stop here. It is not good camping grounds. The forests are too dense and if the rain continues, there won't be any-" Thorin was not silenced by another voice. What startled him out of his thoughts was the sensation of skin against skin.

Tormora gently laid her hand over the one clasping her waist. Thorin had forgotten to remove it after steadying her, but their newfound contact reminded him of his previous actions. What was he to do? Was he to move it and risk her waking up once more? Was he to let it continue and give her, as well as the rest of the Company, the wrong impression? … Was it truly the wrong impression?

He was at the head of the group, after all. Perhaps no one would take note if he were to let the contact continue.

Thorin grunted as his inner voices bickered between one another. Until he made up his mind ultimately, he let their hands connect. Tormora was fast into her slumber to even realize how much her gesture affected him; how quickly it had made his heart race. How moist his skin had become with the nerves that overtook him.

She was so near. Her hair tickled his neck in knowing mockery, the wetness of it causing to stick to his flesh. He could smell that familiar scent that was connected with her: wildberries and something similar to Evergreens. Her sword hung loosely at her hip, polished and ready for only of their many fake duels. He could not help but be transported to those previous days with her in Erebor. The way her laughter had rung out among the trees in his secret garden. She had filled Thorin up with an imaginary glow, and suddenly it was all coming back to him.

He had sworn he had lost her for good. Rejecting her request to take back Erebor was what he believed to be the ultimate end.

And yet, there she was. Curled up inside of him. She was… comfortable. Thorin believed that was no longer an emotion she could feel in his presence. But the reality of that rainy day made his reconsider.

Perhaps that was a chance to make things right. Maybe she _could_ be happy with him. Perhaps this was a sign, sent to him from a higher being, to remind them both of how much they needed the other. The only issue was deciding whether or not she felt the same.

Thorin knew his feelings were for naught. She was not supposed to be on that quest. He had forbidden it, and he was her King. She deliberately disobeyed him. She thought herself strong; her actions noble. Rejecting her had nothing to do with her gender, or her lack of skills.

Thorin did not want her to come, simply because he loved her.

He utterly and irresistibly loved her, and putting her life in danger would torment him. If any harm were to come to her, he was certain it would tear his soul in two. He believed himself to be a selfish man, but to protect Tormora, he would sacrifice everything, including a future with her.

His head began to hurt with the waterfall of thoughts that came pouring in. Thorin's eyes darted towards the trees ahead, where he tried to distract himself from the feeling of her against him.

As his mind began to wander elsewhere, the familiar lyrics of his song rushed back to him in a state of epiphany.

_We must away… ere break of day… To find our long forgotten gold._

Gold. The Arkenstone. Erebor. All were worth risking your life for, or so Thorin believed. And yet, with each clipping of the pony's hooves and with each tree that passed them, Thorin had to ask himself.

What if his forgotten gold was what had now come back to him?

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**REVIEW PLEASE. **

**And thank you SO much for all of your kind thoughts on the last chapter! LOVE YOU GUYS. **

**xx**


	7. Growing Glory

**I didn't excpect such a wonderful and supportive fan base so early on in this story! I hope this chapter makes up for some angsty moments that have been eating at all of us in the last chapters. :) Please don't forget to review! Your comments make my day and help me write quickly!**

**HOWEVER. It is time for University to start, soooo the updates MAY happen to come a bit later than normal, but I'm not quite certain yet.**

**P.S. I completely made this first part of the story up...**

**Infinite Xs and Os,**

**Mistro**

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In the early ages of Middle-Earth in the years of the First Age, a young Dwarf Prince from the line of Durin discovered his love for power. The riches of Middle-Earth were untapped and overflowing, and his lust for jewels outweighed that of any other Dwarf.

While the Prince searched for wealth across the land, a mighty Wizard of the forest kept an ever-watchful eye on his healing stones. These stones were to be used on a dying Wizard across the land. The Wizard in the forest was not looking for wealth or purpose with his gems like the greedy young Prince.

One night, after travelling far to meet with his kin, the Wizard returned to his mighty Maple to find the gems looted. The Dwarf Prince and his followers had taken every last one of them, leaving the Wizard nothing to heal his friend with. He would surely die if the stones were not returned. Disappointment swelled inside of him, the anger leading him directly to the thieves.

The Prince declared the treasure was unprotected and therefore rightfully his. Not wanting to start a duel, the Wizard silently agreed to let him keep his prizes. However, the gems would not come without a cost. When he was not paying attention, the Wizard cast a spell upon the foolish young man.

_Gold and riches will find you as easily as you seek them, but when true treasure stands before your eyes, you will not recognize its full value nor claim it as your own. This will not only apply to you, but the rest of your family and their kin for all the days of Middle-Earth. _

And so, when the beautiful daughter of a nearby Dwarf King met the young Prince in the following years, he found himself besotted. She was as beautiful as they came with her emerald eyes and beard braided to perfection. Not only were her looks above average, but also her tenderness and good heart helped to make her truly wholesome. He wanted her desperately, but could not gather up the strength to approach her. Where had his enormous courage gone? As time passed, he knew his efforts to win her were useless. She was soon gone from his life. When she finally did marry, it was with a distant Prince and they ruled one of the most successful Dwarvish Kingdoms in that day in age. True beauty of Middle-Earth was within her, but the foolish Prince could not have her, and his Kingdom suffered from the lack of a wise Queen.

And so the curse continued. To have children, the Prince and his kin settled for unloving relationships and children for whom they held little interest. The Wizard's hopes to take true beauty away from those who did not deserve it succeeded. It is said to continue in the current days of Middle-Earth.

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Bilbo and many of the other members of the Company could not help to laugh as Tormora finished her folktale. They had been travelling for a couple of hours when she decided the Company could use some entertainment. Thorin had disagreed of course, but Tormora ignored his strict rules and began to tell her story.

"So you're telling me…" Bilbo spoke as he pulled his pony up besides Thorin's. "That's why there are so few female Dwarves? The male Dwarves fail to find interest?"

Tormora, finally awake and quite thrilled to not be stuck in the Blue Mountains, managed to let out an echoing laugh. Thorin tensed up by her cheerful manor. It had been decades since he had heard her laugh so sweetly. "Well, that is what they say. Of course it is merely a story to put children to sleep and provide their parents with a few laughs." She raised a mocking brow. "The truth of the story is that Dwarvish men merely love themselves more than any woman."

Another laugh fell from the Hobbit's mouth and Tormora did not hesitate to match his merriment. "Yes…" Thorin said and not without a trace of exasperation. "I think you've made your point; an incorrect point at that."

"Oh, come now!" Tormora slapped Thorin on the knee, nearly startling him off of the pony. "You know very well that there are less than half the amount of female Dwarves as there are men. I am quite grateful to be on this Earth." Thorin swallowed back a confession of equal gratitude. "Tell me, Mister Baggins… What was it that enticed you to join this quest?"

Bilbo gave a heavy shrug. Tormora's affections for the young Hobbit were growing increasingly, but his next answer sealed the deal of their future friendship. "I just needed to see a bit more of the world. Who knows how much longer I'll be around… or how much longer the world will be?"

"Very well put, Mister Baggins."

"Bilbo," he corrected. "Just Bilbo."

"Well, _just _Bilbo, though I presume you are not Thorin's first choice for a burglar, I see something special within you." She pointed at him with a knowing grin. "Small things hold great potential. I should know. I am no giant myself."

Thorin had to bite his tongue if he did not want to cause a scene. There were many things he desired to say at that moment. One was that Bilbo's size actually may have been useful for burglary, but his lack of experience was not. Another was that Tormora would be far better suited for the role. However, he did not want to encourage her so early in their trip, and so his lips remained sealed.

As the two continued making small talk, the woods dissolved from their trail. Thorin led the group into an open field with the Trollshaw hills rising up before them. Forests continued to wrap around the borders, trapping the Dwarves into calming wildlife. Tormora could not help but smile. "Can we get off the ponies now?" She spun around to face Thorin. He was surprised to see her so thrilled, even with her rain-soaked jacket and scabbed face. It was in that moment he started realizing just how meant the quest meant to Tormora.

When Thorin finally managed to peel his eyes from her, he spoke up to the rest of the group. "Everyone off the ponies."

The group quickly complied, their stomachs gurgling louder than the previous downpour. Thorin helped Tormora off the pony, his hands ridding themselves of their usual strength to become far more gentle. Feeling strangely safe in his hands, Tormora let herself fall from the animal and straight into his chest. "Thank you," she spoke softly with her body still connected to his. Thorin could not manage to respond verbally, as her damp clothes allowed his hands to feel more of her skin than expected.

"Everything alright, Thorin?" Gandalf whispered mockingly as he steadily passed the duo. Thorin could not resist the growing of his eyes and the flushing of his cheeks. For a split second Tormora almost smiled, but the rudiness of his face encouraged her that she should not fuel his embarrassment. It might become anger if she gave way to a laugh. It took him a moment to finally speak up again. "We'll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili… Look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

As Thorin left to let his face cool, Tormora looked towards the young brothers. Kili and Fili had grown magnificently over the years, particularly since Tormora had mostly known them as children. They were still youthful and perhaps a bit naïve, but they were loyal to their Uncle's cause. A tight smile passed Tormora's lips as she was reminded of her previous desires to have a family of her own. Kili and Fili's loyalty was vital to the mission, and she hoped their Uncle recognized that.

"Oin, Gloin," Thorin's voice distracted Tormora from her thoughts. "Get a fire going."

Instead of following Thorin and Gandalf's trail inside the abandoned house, Tormora made her way towards Bofur. She hadn't gotten the opportunity to properly speak with him yet, and as time passed she became more anxious. His eyes sparkled when he saw her approach, as if he had forgotten of her sudden appearance in the forest. "Working hard?" Tormora teased, kicking over a log near the building fire. She could not help to pull him into a suffocating hug.

"Not nearly as hard as I'm sure you have been these past few months. How is your father feeling?" Bofur made sure to keep his voice low.

"He lives." Tormora's throat closed at the mention of her father. She wondered what he must have thought when he awoke with no daughter. Tormora felt guilty about her decision to leave him in his condition. The only way to make the pain disappear was to forget entirely.

Bofur did not press the sitution any further. He knew of her sensitivity when it came to her father. Leaving him would have torn her apart. The friends made their way towards the edges of the woods, making sure their conversation was as secret as possible. "You took an awfully big risk coming here, Mora."

"You gave me directions," she said with a narrowing of her eyes. "Did you really think I would let you down?" Bofur gave a weary smile. He hadn't doubted her for a second. But now that she was there, he found himself regretting his decision. What if she was to get injured… or worse?

Bofur rubbed his neck nervously. "Well, you've also managed to permanently wipe the grin off of Thorin."

Tormora snorted in amusement. "Thorin cannot control the lives of everyone, despite how much he tries." Bofur was quick to agree, but as he began to speak his opinion, someone far more irritated got their word across the forest.

From the distance, Gandalf's booming voice rang out. "I've had enough of Dwarves for one day!"

Tormora and Bofur rushed back to the main trail, where Gandalf was charging in the opposite direction. Although she didn't know any of the details, Tormora could tell by Thorin's face that the cause of his anger was most likely the exiled King. "Come on, Bombur," Thorin said grumpily. "We're hungry."

"Is he coming back?" Bilbo asked what the rest of the group was thinking.

Tormora's brows crinkled together in her forhead. What was the Wizard so heated about? Her eyes quickly darted towards Thorin, who looked equally as flustered. It was no surprise that Thorin had once again caused a row, but there was little inkling in her mind as to what the issue had been. Could it have been her appearance that made them argue?

"Come, Bilbo." She placed a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder. "Perhaps we should go and help Bofur collect the firewood."

Setting up the camp was swift and effortless. Blankets were set up comfortably around the growing fire, and the smell of fresh food was taunting them all. Just before the setting of the sun, Tormora managed to find some free time to clean her wounds. They were minor, but stung with every press of the moist rag. The rest of the group was preoccupied with the smell of cooking vegetables, but one Dwarf was more interested in the newest member of their Company. Nori, a quiet but curious man, leaned over Tormora's shoulder as she laid the rag across her tired eyes. "Why have you come back?"

Tormora turned in surprise, her face dripping with sleepiness and muddied water. She had not expected Nori to be addressing her so soon, but the gentle look on his face assured her that she would be free from criticism. "I have come back so that I may help to reclaim my homeland." She knew Nori did not come from Erebor, proving that his position in the Company was respectable and admirable.

"You are a Dwarf of Erebor?"

"Dale," she corrected. "Dale was taken from me by the Dragon Smaug. I merely go for vengence, and perhaps to salvage my beloved city of Men. I do not go for wealth or precious stones."

"I don't believe that Thorin goes solely for power," Nori said quietly. Tormora was surprised by his openness. She had not seen him speak more than three words on their entire journey so far, but he was quick to defend Thorin Oakenshield. She had only met Nori once, at the planning of the quest, and even then he had not adressed her personally. "Part of him longs to relive the years he lost in the home that he cannot claim as his own."

Tormora was stopped short by the protective words that Nori offered. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Just to remind you that you are not alone on your quest for personal reasons."

Tormora was at a complete loss of words. Nori had clearly sensed the tension between Tormora and Thorin. He could tell that there were words unspoken between them, whether they were angry or loving, but words that needed to be spoken despite the cost. Nori's lack of speech was made up with his keen observations.

While Nori left Tormora with her thoughts, a sudden determination to go and speak to Thorin grew inside her. Unfortunately it wasn't put into action at that precise moment. Food was ready, and her growling stomach made sure to fill itself up before any confrontations were made. If he was going to shout at her, she at least wanted to shout back without her stomach gurgling halfway through. She rushed back to the campsite, hoping there was extra food that Bombur had not gotten to.

"Stop it!" Bofur cried as his obese brother reached for another spoonful of stew. "You've had enough."

"Tormora." Balin carried a plate over to her as she sat herself on a rotting log. "You eat the last piece of rabbit. You've grown too thin anyway."

One of Thorin's brows lifted steadily in response to the comment. Tormora caught sight of it, and believed him to be displeased with the idea, as if starving her would hopefully influence her to return to Ered Luin. But Thorin had meant quite the opposite. She _had_ grown too thin, and the raise of his brow was nothing more than a silent gesture of agreement.

Tormora ignored her presumptions and reached for the fleshy bone, only to be stopped by a sharp sensation on her neck. Her eyes looked down in annoyance, unsurprised to see a sword lingering on the veins in her neck. "I'll fight you for it."

"Mister Dwalin. I wasn't expecting such hostility so early on." She wore a smile as she spoke, and pushed the blade away with her stained fingers.

Dwalin was not preparing for a meaningful fight. Truthfully, he had missed Tormora's presence and recalled her duels with Thorin from many years ago with fondness. There were even a few battles between the two of them, all of which were well fought and entertaining. Not many people had earned Dwalin's respect, but she had once been on her way towards it. "If you are to join our company, you must be fighting fit. It has been a long time since I've seen you hold a sword." His thick accent only made Tormora's lip curl upwards in amusement. "Or, in your case, more of a dagger."

Tormora's dreariness suddenly lessened with the playful mockery. "Shall we find out?" She heaved her sword from its pouch with skillful determination. Dwalin was surprised by her enthusiasm, but only momentarily, as he quickly remembered that she had always been prepared for battle.

"Try not to hurt me," Dwalin smirked. "I'm delicate."

Tormora swung her Dwarvish sword in a neat circle before crouching into a fighting position. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Dwalin took a daring step forward, his muscular arm taking up nearly all of Tormora's vision. She was not about to make a fool of herself like she had earlier that day, and so her quick dash to the side gave her the opportunity to send a flying thrust towards Dwalin's back. He groaned in pain, spinning around quickly to protect his backside.

"Here's your problem," Tormora shrugged. "You're too big. I can sneak around you and strike without ever being noticed."

Dwalin's bushy brow rose in surprise. His mouth was ready for an equally mocking response, but Tormora's swift tumble between his legs surprised him. When she regained her balance on the other side, her sword managed to find its way against his back yet again.

"See?" She grinned. "Like that."

Both were aware of all eyes focussing on them. Bofur let out a whooping laugh as Tormora struck Dwalin a second time. The rest were fearful to join in the merriment, as Thorin looked less and less pleased with every blow. Eventually they forget his aggression, their focus on the fight making them cheerful and amused.

"Little girl," Dwalin said with a shake of his head. "Is that what you're suggesting I call you?" Tormora's face turned red with the sound of the nickname. In her embarrassment, Dwalin managed to swing his sword neatly towards her waist. Her arm was quick to protect her abdomen and the clashing of metal rung out profoundly throughout the field.

"No," she replied with a grunt as she pressed more weight onto her sword. "Particularly since I am older than you."

"I'm still taller." Dwalin continued to push his weight against her sword, causing it to finally fall away. He managed to strike her arm swiftly before she was able to dash off again. Tormora cried out in pain. Her arm could not swing as properly with the sting shooting through it, and unfortunately she could not grasp her blade with the opposite hand. Her other moves would have to come into play… one in particular she had been anxious to use for a while.

Tormora ducked beneath his sword as she released the grip on her own. She grew dangerously close to the warrior, her fingers snatching hold of the tip of his beard. Pulling down firmly, Tormora felt herself winning as Dwalin let out a surprising cry, his sword falling easily from his hands in shock. It was the perfect chance for Tormora to take hold of her sword again, aiming it winningly towards his throat. The battle was won. The rest of the Dwarves cheered and clapped behind her, surprised that their beards could be such a hindrance.

"By my beard…!" Dwalin laughed with a shake of his head. "How have you managed to keep your skills in the Southern Blue Mountains?"

Tormora stifled a breathless laugh, still bitter about the mention of her exile. Her muscular arms dug the top half of her sword forcefully into the dirt. "Sheep, Mister Dwalin. Seeing as there is limited civilization in my dwelling, all my practices came down to livestock."

"Must have been firm sheep."

Tormora removed her sword from the Earth, cheekily swinging it over her shoulder with a purse of her lips. "Firmer than you, I reckon."

Dwalin could not wipe the grin off his face. His arm extended the metal bowl, the rabbit leg rightfully Tormora's. "I believe this is yours."

Tormora took the meat quickly, devouring it without a trace of feminist charm. The men watched her in silence, and once she was finished with a smeared face, she could not help but grin and cheer loudly in the echoing field. The rest of the men followed suite, somehow more alive with the new member's enthusiasm.

Balin's smile was wearier than the others. He was not upset that Tormora had found her way into their mission, but he was fearful for the effect it would have on Thorin's morale. There were already signs that he was growing bitter, and the addition of Bilbo had already angered him enough. Tormora not only frustrated him, but also provided him with other feelings no one else could claim to.

Tormora finished her meal, making merry conversation with Dwalin about their skills and tactics. There were occasions where Bifur tried to join the conversation, but neither could quite understand his sentences, causing laughter to become their only response. Tormora had not expected to be so happy. Not only was her joy growing, but also her desire to speak with Thorin alone.

When the men had settled down to finish off the last bites of stew, Bilbo made his way into the forest to deliver Fili and Kili's supper. Things were going smoothly, despite the fact that the Wizard had not yet returned. Everyone else was growing tired from a wet day's journey, and Thorin found himself desperately in need of his own company. He made his way towards the back of the broken farmhouse, his solitude comforting after a day filled with surprises.

He let his weary back rest against the wooden shed. Though his body seemed calm, his mind was in a whirlwind. The feeling of Tormora had not yet left him, and watching her battle with Dwalin brought back a collection of memories that he had excused from his mind for many years. She fought with stability and strength. Exactly what his Company was lacking. Only a fool would have turned her away.

Getting ready to regret his decision of excluding her, Thorin was once again surprised by a sudden appearance. "My apologies; I did not mean to startle you."

Thorin's eyes rolled from the tip of Tormora's boots to her curled hairline. Somehow he was not bewildered to see her, but her appearance made him nervous all the same. "You fought well." The softness in his voice echoed of long lost kindness towards the woman.

"Thank you for that." Tormora took a step closer. The moon was high at that point, and Tormora's smile was impossible to miss beneath the flowering beams. "It has been years since I have fought against another Dwarf. Even if it was only for jest."

"Dwalin always said you had talent." Thorin's sigh made the compliment seem insignificant. His arms folded tightly across his chest. "You proved that to everyone else today."

"Dwalin was merely tired from travel," Tormora chuckled. "I think of all of our battles, I have won but two. Perhaps three, if today is included. That is not exactly something I can be proud of."

Thorin was silent. It was supposed to be his private thinking moment, and her random appearance had stolen that from him. He hoped offering her silence would give her the hint of his desire to be alone. Unfortunately, he could not stay silent as she waited anxiously beside him. "How far did you expect to go?"

Tormora blinked without comprehension. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I-"

"How long did you expect to stay with us?" Thorin finally faced her directly. She seemed to shrunk nervously under his gaze, a feeling he had never wished to cause her. "Did you think you would survive this quest?"

Tormora nodded without a beat. "I will survive this quest. What makes me any different from the rest of your men? Or do you also lack hope for them?"

Thorin shook his head. "You are too determined. You have proven that in the few hours you have been with us."

"I'm sorry. I never knew that determination was regarded with negativity."

"You cannot expect me to protect you."

Tormora took a step backwards in offense. Protection? The idea had not crossed her mind, but it had clearly crossed Thorin's. Was he aiming to protect her? Did she really need it? "I had not planned on it. If I die, that merely means my time has come. Did you think I would ask for your help?" Thorin did not respond instantly. "Have I ever asked for your help?"

He could not recall a specific time. Thorin was at a loss for words, but suddenly the thoughts overflowing his mind came spilling out into the open. "Perhaps you had not expected it, but if you would have asked for my protection, I may have… considered it. As a woman, you will no doubt be targeted more than the others." He swallowed back a lump forming in his throat. "Losing you would be…"

Tormora had not expected any form of confession to come from Thorin so soon, but she would certainly not push it away. As she waited silently for him to continue, her eyes were drawn to his figure. The deep brown waves of his hair were turning a gentle grey with age, the streaks somehow flattering with the aqua of his eyes. His face was thinner and more sunken, but not unflatteringly so. He wore a firmer stance, one that was just as headstrong as in his youthful days. Tormora had always admired him from afar when she was youthful, but she now knew what his lips felt like and what his hushed whispers could possess. She looked at him in an entirely different light. He used to be the man that she loved, and somewhere deep down was the one she feared she still did.

"Thorin…" Tormora spoke up upon realization that he would not continue. "I will watch your back, as well as the rest of the men. Not because I believe you need it, but because you travel the same path as I. You are my companion." She coughed, fearful that her words were too soft for his tastes. "I hope that you will not regret doing the same for me. I hope you will view me as one of your faithful Company members. Think of me as another one of your men."

Thorin stared at her for what seemed like consecutive lifetimes. It was a familiar look of uncertainty. Tormora knew precisely what he was thinking and could not seem to peel her eyes away from his, despite how unfitting she deemed the act. It frustrated her, but all of her anger suddenly melted away like droplets on a frying pan. Dwarves were skilled at holding grudges, but when it came to Thorin, Tormora was amateur.

"How could I view you as one of my men?" His words were not spoken with bitterness, but genuine confusion. "You are a woman." Others may have heard animosity in this confession, but there was a different truth in his four words.

_You are _my _woman. _

Tormora audibly took an intake of breath. She needed all the air she could get, considering the rate at which her heart decided to leave her chest. There was nothing she could say in response. Her mixed emotions left her voiceless in the face of her demon. There was hurt left in every bone of her body. There was passion in her from being apart from him for so many years. There was regret for things she may have done to upset him after the troubles he had been through with the loss of his family. In that moment behind the farmhouse, Tormora could not decide which sentiment to express. Thorin's eyes spoke what his lips dared not. The only thing she knew how to do in that moment was kiss him.

She took a slight step forward, her lips still spread apart in a desperate attempt to steadily breathe. Thorin mocked her hesitation, but kept his feet still as she neared him. He had felt her body against him nearly all day. The shape of her hips aligned with his thighs while on the pony, sending shivers down his spine and a lust within his core. He had never seen her unclothed, but there had always been that loving desire to hold her against him with nothing but their true selves to come between them.

Tormora was daringly close to his lips. Her eyelashes flickered shut, allowing darkness to find her vision. Darkness was like a sort of paradise for Tormora; it kept reality at bay and let her sink into her selfish dreams of romance. She could imagine what Thorin's face was like without actually having to look at it. If he looked displeased, at least she would save herself disappointment. In her mind's eye, she painted only pleasure onto the face of Thorin Oakenshield.

He, however, was entirely unprepared for such a moment. He had to actively remind himself that he was not yet asleep, and that this dream of his was now blooming to life. Tormora still wanted him. Or at least, she seemed to. She was growing nearer, the smoothness of her lips becoming a pink desire more seductive than a rose. She was all he ever wanted, and for a few moments he knew he could not resist her as easily as he once had.

However, it was not Thorin that changed his mind. Life had other plans for the Company that evening, and the unification of past lovers was not one of them.

"Quickly! Everyone!" Kili's voice ran out on the other side of the barn near the campfire. "They've got Bilbo! Trolls have got Bilbo and the ponies!" Thorin closed his eyes tiredly. Somehow it did not surprise him that his desire would go unfulfilled. When finally reopened, he looked pathetically down at Tormora.

"Well?" She questioned with an embarrassed smile. "Are you going to protect your new member?"

"Unfortunately," Thorin grumbled, swiftly pulling out his sword. "But mainly for the ponies." And though there was a minor truth in his sentence, the two could not help but laugh.

"Well then!" She was ready to fight, despite the late hours. True danger had not found its way in her life for many decades, and the thought of it was almost as appetizing as the rabbit leg. "Let's go save your burglar."

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**I hope you all enjoyed the filler chapter! **

**I think you all know what comes next… (;**

**PLEASE REVIEW! **


	8. The Slightest Heart

**Hello my darling readers! Sorry for the update. Classes started and I find myself VERY busy, but I hope this chapter makes up for any lost time. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW. Partially because I'm curious about what you think of the first part in this chapter, and partially because I took the time to write so many 'please's.**

**Always yours,**

**Maestro xxx**

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**Winter TA 2767**

The finding of the Arkenstone was such an imperative discovery, that festivities were in order. And not only on that day, or in that month, but for years to come. A parade had already made its way through Dale a year earlier, which struck a silent note in history as Thorin and Tormora's second meeting.

The following year's winter season brought about a rather notable party in continuous honor of the discovery. King Thrór was growing highly prosperous, even more so than before, and his celebrations would continue as long as the Arkenstone blessed them.

The ball was held inside a richly decorated Erebor, and everyone who was anyone was found inside. Scholars, warriors, and royalty lined the halls in their Earth tone silks and fur robes. The luminescence of the candlelight had never been seen in such a cavernous mountain before. It was a different kind of world for most guests on that wintery eve, but an entirely new one for someone else.

Tormora, just now nineteen, was standing near the doorway of the bustling kitchen. It was in the back corner of the monstrously sized hall, but she felt safe there, and far from arbitrating looks. "Why is she here?" Some had spoken without fear of being heard. "She is no one of importance. Look at her working hands. They are just as rough as my husband's."

Many of the conversations passing her way sounded like this. Yet, Tormora _was_ of importance. At least, to one person. She was important to the future King of Erebor, although she did not entirely realize how much.

Accepting the invitation was rather a struggle on Tormora's part. It was when her father had purchased her a beguilingly golden gown that she could not refuse. He wanted to see his daughter at her happiest, and somehow the Prince had been the one to give her that feeling in recent months.

Tormora and Thorin had seen much of one another with their blacksmith and swordplay lessons. However, the ball brought them together as friends rather than teachers. Some would say their affections surpassed those of friendship, and instead turned into such potent emotions that even married Dwarves did not recognize.

Standing near the heat of the kitchen reminded Tormora of her home in Dale. The smell of wine, cheese and meat smelt like her grandfather's cooking- the kind that she worked hard for all day. It was growing late and the ball continued tirelessly. There had still been no sign of the Prince.

Drumming her bitten fingernails nervously on her thigh, Tormora's eyes could not help to flicker longingly towards the entrance. If she left, would he notice?

"Standing so close to the kitchen won't put food in your stomach." Thorin's voice was a pleasant intrusion into Tormora's thoughts. It had, however, been entirely unexpected. She jumped in surprise, her hand nearly swinging up towards the Prince's cheek in surprise. He snatched it delicately, expecting such a startled reaction. "You don't want anyone to see you hitting a Prince, do you?" Tormora shook her head quickly, peeling her wrist away in embarrassment. "If you wish to eat, let me accompany you to the table."

"I cannot," Tormora stuttered. It was the first time the Prince had spoken to her all evening, and even after preparing numerous conversations with him in her imagination, she found herself brain dead. "That's quite alright. I cannot say that I'm very hungry."

"You must have eaten already."

"I did," Tormora lied. Truthfully she felt ashamed of eating such splendid food without feeling guilt towards her father and grandfather.

"Which means that you have strength within your body."

Her head fell to her shoulder in misperception. When she spoke, it came out sounding like a question. "I suppose you could say that?"

Thorin's palm suddenly opened up towards her. She had been offered that gesture before earlier in the evening, and each time it was a request to drag her onto the dance floor. It was easy to reject men she did not know. Know it suddenly became different. She could not reject a Prince. No matter how horribly she danced, she could not refuse a man of his status. Fearing the worst, but hoping for the best, she slipped her hand into his.

Robust, hairy couples danced across the room. Their autumnal colors reminded the girl of leaves on a blustery day; elegant and graceful and always seeming to stay together. If _she _were to dance, she would be the foot crushing the leaves beneath her twisted and unbalanced feet. Not only that, but her appearance was entirely unacceptable. She bore no beard. Her robes were beautiful, but incomplete with fur. However, she knew she could not reject the Prince's offer, and made her way closer towards the couples.

"Tormora, where are you headed?" Thorin pulled her to a stop as she neared the edge of the orchestra. "Did you want to dance?" The music was lively and quick, as all Dwarves love, but Thorin also looked bored with the idea of a reel.

"I thought…" Tormora's cheeks grew as warm as the candle's flames. "You offered me your hand as a dancing partner."

Thorin stared at her for what seemed like a lifetime. Suddenly a match set off a spark of life within him and he broke out into a smile. "I meant for a stroll. I do not expect you to believe that I am a particularly talented dancer. Not to a reel, anyway. Surely you know me well enough to guess that."

Tormora did know him, but being on friendly terms with the King's son was not something she knew how to pride herself for. Straightening her back, Tormora managed to regain her composure. "If it is a stroll you would like, then you shall happily receive it. I am not one for dancing, even if it is with a good partner."

The couple made their way towards the large staircase that carried them onto Erebor's single balcony. Thráin took note of his son's behavior, even without the numerous pairs of lips whispering of his actions. Thráin knew that Thorin could not be with a blacksmith's daughter. She came from a kind family, but not a wealthy one. She was descended from Durin, but had fallen from royalty. More importantly; she had no beard. She lived in Dale, the city of Men. Thorin would practically be marrying a Woman at that rate, and his followers would not stand for it.

And yet, though his conscience told him to halt the duo, Thráin could not bring himself to call after his son. His father, Thrór was also enjoying himself too much with wine and song to chase after his grandson. And so, Thráin let life take its course for the evening. His son could spend time with the girl if he so pleased; he was going to be King some day and would soon not be able to spend time with such irrelevant companions.

While all of this was processing in Thráin's brain, Thorin and Tormora's minds consisted only of the other. Others stared, whispered, and openly gossiped about their strange and abnormal relationship. Thorin and Tormora used silence as their weapon against the harsh claims.

When finally reaching the empty balcony, Tormora knew she could become herself once again. "Thank you for getting me out of there," she grinned. "I thought you had left me on my own." She let out a heavy sigh, clutching at the tight fabric on her torso "This is a positive nightmare! Have you ever seen me in something so closely fitted?"

Tormora practically commanded him to look at her chest, where her rough hands tugged at the shimmering fabric. Feeling a shiver of desire, Thorin forced himself to look out at the view ahead. Dale was hardly recognizable on the midnight horizon, but the blueness of the sky made the scene beautiful away. Not quite as beautiful as the woman standing beside him, but Thorin had expected her to stay at his side of quite a long while. He could spare a glimpse towards Dale. "Perhaps you shouldn't have worn it."

"You don't like it?" Tormora teased, making her way closer towards the Prince. "I thought all Dwarves liked gold."

Thorin couldn't help but smile. "You have a valid point. Your dress was conveniently picked for this evening." Thorin turned his bearded face to hers. She smiled up at him with warmth and knowledge of his playful manner; a look only she could give him. The truth was, Tormora knew him nearly better than anyone. But did she know that he was completely besotted with her presence?

"My father picked it up for me," she confessed. "Otherwise I might not have come. It must have cost him two months' earnings. Surely a daughter cannot reject that."

Thorin's previous romantic thoughts dispersed like the dying flicker of a flame. "You wouldn't have come?"

Tormora instantly realized her mistake and was quick to seek a remedy. "It wasn't because I did not wish to see you. In fact, you and my father were the only one who consumed my thoughts when I was making a decision." Tormora was so quick to clear the air that she had not realized the confessions she was suddenly exposing. "Truthfully, I knew it was not my place to come. Nor was it your place to invite me. And yet, all the same, I found myself being selfish and wishing to spend the evening with you."

"The entire evening?"

"Any second I could manage." Tormora felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "My father buying me this dress sealed my decision. I did not wish to upset him, nor did I wish to upset you."

"I think you did not wish to disappoint _yourself_," Thorin spoke calmly. "Considering you have just pointed out that you desired to spend the night with me." Thorin spoke without jest. He spoke mainly to himself, to convince his mind that such a beautiful woman actually wanted him. He had to make it entirely clear in his mind that Tormora wanted to be with him at the ball. Thorin and Tormora. Nothing and no one to come between them.

Tormora paused for a moment, not realizing the burst of emotions erupting within her companion. Every second she waited to speak was another drop of blood that halted on the path to Thorin's heart. "Yes," she finally breathed. "I suppose I cannot deny what is true."

A smile broke out onto Thorin's face. It was an unusual sight to see the young Prince so thrilled, but it was genuine joy. Without thinking, Thorin took her bare hand in his. The chill of the night's air suddenly dispersed as the heat of their fingertips warmed them inside and out. "Come with me."

Thorin quickly pulled Tormora back down the main staircase, his hand slipping free from hers. He held onto it in his mind, but saved her from further ridicule by letting it slip.

Suddenly, she was nervous. Thorin was acting far more enthusiastic than before, but she did not know what her confession had meant to him. Was he going to turn her into his grandfather? Was she to be put into prison? That wasn't the Thorin she knew, but she had not always been superb in the area of men.

Once reaching the quartz floor of the Great Hall, Thorin sped off towards the right, the opposite direction of the dancing. Tormora watched him with astonishment as he made his way down a dimly lit tunnel. No one had seemed to notice his disappearance, but Tormora could not be too sure. If she followed him and someone saw, what sort of gossip did she risk labeling herself to?

All of it.

But that was a risk she was comfortable taking.

Hiking up the hems of her dress, Tormora kept on Thorin's heels. When she reached him, she was surprised to see him waiting just outside of a door for her. "What could possibly be in there?" She whispered, taking note of its rotting appearance.

Thorin was silent as he twisted the silver knob. When the room was revealed to Tormora, the excitement of the sneaking suddenly vanished. "Is this supposed to impress me?" She stared ahead; making sure her eyes did not deceive her. It was a broom cupboard filled with old rags, buckets, brooms, and other discarded supplies. She started to speak again, but Thorin's hand quickly pushed her into the darkness. Before he said a word, the slamming of his door was his first confession.

"What in Durin's name-"

"Don't shout."

"Thorin?"

"Yes, I am here."

Tormora shifted uncomfortably on her toes. His voice was directly in front of her. Ten inches away? Nine inches? Perhaps even less. If only she could reach out and touch him…

"Alright, well since you're in here, can you please tell me what is happening?"

She wished she could have seen his face. The only light that guided them was coming from the crack between the ground and the door. It was hardly enough to let her eyes adjust in order to read the Prince's expression. She guessed he was smiling, but his voice was too soft to detect sentiment.

"Would you rather be dancing?" Thorin's voice was suddenly deep. He was making fun of her, but in a way he had not done before. It was almost seductively taunting, and before proper thoughts could form, Thorin brought himself closer towards Tormora.

"I… I would rather be…" Tormora fumbled as she felt a warm finger brush against her cheek. In a desperate attempt to pinch herself, Tormora managed to brush her fingertips across Thorin's arm. "I'm sorry. That was terribly inappropriate."

"If I recall correctly, you _have_ kissed me before." Thorin chuckled, his fingers now pushing her hair slowly behind her ear. He could see her. Perhaps not with his eyes, but in a way that no one had bothered to look at before.

Tormora let her eyes flicker shut. The heat of him was enough to make her dizzy, but his close proximity was suffocating her with longing. "Yes, but that was in my blacksmith shop. Behind a curtain. Not here. Not with your family twenty feet away."

She could hear Thorin shrug in the darkness. "We all have to take our chances."

Thorin let his hand spread out against her skin so that he cradled her cheek in his palm. She pressed her lips against his open hand, telling him in silence that his gestures were not only accepted, but also anticipated. Thorin's head came down with strained swiftness, his lips pressing themselves silently against the bridge of her nose. Tormora took a swift intake of breath, waiting for him to find her lips in the darkness.

Thorin could feel her open mouth struggling to breath correctly. He smirked in relation to the affect he had on her. It matched his own perfectly, and he prayed her delicate heart was pounding as loudly and painfully as his own. He was thankful he did not have to go through the torment of affection alone… but was pleased that it was her who inflicted such pleasuring pain within him.

Not being able to resist the taste of her, Thorin let himself envelope her into a kiss. Tormora's body went weak, her arms flinging around his neck for stability. He held onto her waist for his own support, the silk fabric of her dress as smooth as the skin that lay beneath it. He could not now for certain, but considering the softness of her face, he guessed the rest of her was quite similar. More desires appeared in his mind at the thought, and he could not help to squeeze her gently with the restrained longing.

They kissed until kisses became deeper. When the kisses became less interesting, it was their hands that searched for comfort. Tormora found hers in his hair, thick and intertwined like their affections. Thorin found his within her hips, strong and beautiful as every part of her declared itself to be.

They embraced for what felt like many hours. Breath was lost and heartbeats struggled to keep up. Eyes flickered open with the excitement of the dark. Fingers untied strings of gowns lazily until they searched for another part to caress. It was only the voice of the King that could stop them, and stop them he did.

"Where in Middle-Earth is my grandson?"

Thorin stifled a quick laugh, breaking free from his tight hold on Tormora. She, on the other hand, was terrified. She slapped him unsteadily on the arm, not being able to speak. "Just wait here," Thorin ordered, albeit not wanting to leave her. "I will go out first, and then you will follow in ten minutes time."

"Ten minutes?" She shrieked. "In here?"

"Would you rather follow me out with your hair in the state that it is and the front of your dress loosened?" Tormora shook her head, her thick hair making her gesture audible. "That was what I presumed." Thorin pressed his lips to her forehead. "When you come out, say you will find me."

Thorin left before Tormora could manage a reply. She didn't need to give him words. He knew her answer. She had given him her heart, and such a reply was the only one he had ever needed.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Back in the Trollshaw**

Standing on the edge of the troll camp, Tormora and Thorin were performing a different kind of dance that evening. It was a dance with swords and one with the risk of death waiting for them at the end.

"They're giant," Tormora whispered as the group crept along the edge of the woods. They watched as Bilbo was hoisted into the air, sitting uncomfortably in the grasp of a Troll's wrinkled hand. Snot clung from Bilbo's head to his captor's nose, the sight too repulsive for anyone to take note for very long. Tormora could hear them antagonizing the poor Hobbit, but her heart was drumming too loudly to take note of their words.

"We can fight them," Kili whispered with encouragement. "We cannot let our burglar die so easily!" Thorin grunted at his nephew's remark, making it clear that he did not share the same opinion.

"Where has Master Gandalf gone?" Dori cried desperately. "We need him!"

Thorin snapped his head around, locking eyes with the fearful members of his party. "Gandalf chose to leave us. If we fight, we fight without him." A wizard would no doubt be helpful in that moment, but there was little to nothing they could do. Gandalf could have been miles away at that point. If they waited any longer, Bilbo was going to end up as breakfast before anyone could blink. "Kili; you will make the first appearance."

The young Dwarf's eyes doubled in size. It was not for fear of the gigantic creatures that his nerves escalated, but more from shock that his Uncle had chosen him to lead. Every chance to serve the King was done so with honor and a limited amount of fear.

Thorin's voice grew hushed as the attack plans commenced. "When they are about to strike, we will make ourselves known." The Dwarves began to discuss their directions with the others. Thorin turned his attention to the woman beside him. "Make for the leader of the group."

Thorin was practically sealing her letter to death. "Why should I?"

He hesitated with the compliment. "You are faster, stronger and more able than many of the others. I will keep track of the… less talented… members, and meanwhile you take out the largest."

Tormora couldn't help but feel flattered. With a silent nod, she accepted his proposal. Kili prepared himself for battle, and all words fell silent.

Kili withdrew with sword, leaving his beloved bow for emergency use only. Tormora knew by his pose that he was far more talented in battle than other men his age. She held a certain respect for the young man, but that may very well have been because of his pathetically grown beard. Dwarvish woman would have found him unattractive, but Tormora was glad not to be alone.

Taking a swift intake of breath, Kili let his prominent demeanor known to the Trolls. His sword sliced one of their knees with skill and swiftness. The beast let out a howling cry, catching the attention of his friends. "Drop him!" His voice resonated through the woods, unafraid to let his pride spread.

A Troll scrunched his nose in disgust. He would not let himself be bested by a tiny Dwarf, and one so young. "You _what_?"

"I said, _drop him_."

The Troll paused for a moment, considering whether to waste his time on such an insignificant enemy. One Dwarf could never beat three mountain Trolls. Trying to make the situation more amusing for him and his friends, he dropped… or rather, _threw _Bilbo onto Kili. The Hobbit hit the Dwarf swiftly and with force, releasing a painful groan from the pair of them.

"_Now_!" Thorin's battle cry could not go unmissed. Each Dwarf had prepared their weapons behind the trees. They were more than ready for their first real fight and left their fear back in the camp.

As they charged ahead, any limb possible of a Troll was struck. Tormora found it difficult to take aim of them, despite their size, for fear of them snatching her up with callused hands. She rolled smoothly across the dew-covered dirt, sending a sharp stab to one of the creature's toes. His shout of pain was her reward. "Khazad aimenu (The Dwarves are upon you)!" Tormora shouted happily. The thrill of fighting filled her up like wine and made her drunk on exhilaration.

Thorin head Tormora's battle cry from the opposite way. He ducked to avoid the snatching hand of a Troll, but kept his eyes fixated on her. She continued to slice the flesh of her enemies. Her smiles did not belong to the thrill of death or causing pain to others, but the sense of feeling important. Thorin was only starting to realize that when things started taking a turn for the worse.

Each Dwarf was trying their best to hit whatever they could, even if that accidentally meant one another. Not all were skilled warriors and it showed. Ori desperately fumbled with his slingshot, its wound being no more than a sting. Bilbo was far from helpful, as he continued to cut loose the ponies that everyone had already forgotten about.

It was when one of the Trolls had his eyes on Bilbo that Thorin had practically given up all hope for a quick escape. Tormora had also seen the creature's line of vision, and had known the evening was going to be a long one. The Troll snatched the Hobbit up once again, clearly understanding that the burglar was important enough to be saved.

"Bilbo!" Kili shouted, realizing the situation.

The Trolls held Bilbo up by his flimsy arms and legs. They had all failed to see such a gesture coming, and with shock, Thorin could not help to shout. "No!"

"Lay down your arms!" The Troll shouted. "Or we'll rip his off!"

Tormora watched as Thorin's eyes flickered back towards Bilbo. There was aggravation in his stare, but there was also regret. He should have been more careful. Thorin had never wanted Bilbo in his Company, but Gandalf had practically commanded it. Thorin knew he should have watched the Hobbit's back. Fuming with contempt for both the Trolls and his new burglar, Thorin dug his sword firmly into the ground. It was done. They had lost.

The rest of the Dwarves tossed their weapons to the ground in defeat, preparing themselves for the gnawing of Troll teeth. One of them had not given up, however, and Tormora stood firmly with her sword still in her clutch. She eyed the Troll without a blink, making sure that he took her seriously.

"Come on, you strange looking thing…" The Troll shriveled up his nose at Tormora. "Drop that sword or your friend will get it."

Tormora did not want to give up. She wanted to go on fighting, as she often did. She also did not want Bilbo to die, and clearly that was the option being presented to her. Tossing her sword to the ground was painful, but as it slipped from her fingers she felt relief. Bilbo would stay alive.

For a little while more, anyway.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Bofur… Get your head off of my shoulder!"

Sweat trickled into Tormora's eyes from her forehead, but she could not reach her hands up to wipe it. Pain was splintering within her shoulder blade, where Bofur's thick head was pinned firmly onto it. She had already been embarrassed when they stripped her of her clothing and left her in her father's undergarments. Now she was admitting to minor pain and did not give a care who heard her.

"Do you think I'm not uncomfortable either?" Bofur shouted in frustration. "They took my clothes, for Erebor's sake!"

"They took _all_ of our clothes!" Dwalin shouted back in annoyance. "And get your foot out of my spine!"

Tormora, Dwalin, Bofur, Dori, Ori and Nori found themselves tied on a spit and slowly cooking over a fire. It was not the sort of death any of them had prepared themselves for, but reality was never entirely predictable. If they could have fought back, they would, but with their bodies tightly wrapped and pinned to one another, it was a sad moment when they realized they were going nowhere.

The rest of the group was put in sacks on the side of the campfire. They were next on the menu, but in the meantime they would have to watch their friends roasting ever so slowly. And then be eaten.

Things weren't going entirely well.

"Don't bother cooking them," a Troll spoke up. "Let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly."

Tormora's brow rose as her face inched closer to the fire. "That's abhorrent." She could feel her eyebrows failing against the heat of the flames. The laughs that she would receive rung out mockingly in her head. A Dwarf with no facial hair _at all._

"They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage," another protested.

"Ooh, that does sound quite nice."

"Or we could be set free," Tormora chuckled to herself. "That's another option."

Dori bubbled up with abnormal aggression. "Is this _really_ necessary?" No one responded. No one even bothered looking at him, except his friends on the ground below with pity. The poor Dwarf could not stand it any longer. His beard was practically shriveling up by that point. He didn't mind losing his life, but his beard was an entirely different story. "Untie us, you monsters!"

Gloin safely, although not entirely safe, shouted from below. "Take on someone your own size!"

Bofur managed to laugh despite the given situation. "If we're talking about guts here, then I reckon they _are_ taking on someone their own size." He whispered it to Tormora, and against her will she sputtered out a laugh. Thorin perked up at the sound of her joy, confused as to how anyone could have been happy in that moment. But Tormora had surprised him before.

Maybe being eaten by Trolls wasn't so bad after all?

"Never mind the seasoning!" The leader of the group growled. "We ain't got all night! Dawn ain't far away, so let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned into stone."

Tormora was trying to pay attention to the words flying about around her, but her body had other ideas. Living in the cold nearly her whole life sheltered her from the any form of heat. The sudden amount of flames nearing her head felt worst than a sword against her gut, and unwillingly, she found herself slipping off into darkness. Thankfully, Bofur noticed her struggle and smashed his head further into her shoulder. Don't you dare fall asleep on me!"

"Watch it!" Tormora shouted, suddenly awake. "You may be my closest friend but that doesn't mean you can-"

"_Wait_!" Everyone's heads, including those on the spit, turned to Bilbo. "You are making a _terrible _mistake." Bilbo's attempts to bring ethics into the situation were not going to save their hide, and Dori realized that.

"You can't reason with them!" Dori shouted tragically. "They're half-wits!"

Bofur perked up, but this time with uncharacteristic irritation. "Half-wits? Then what does that make us?"

"Dead?" Tormora whispered begrudgingly as her eyelids continued to droop. Bofur sent another firm jam into her shoulder, bringing her back to her unfortunate reality.

Bilbo somehow managed to hop to his feet despite his neatly strung sack. Everyone eyed him with curiosity, wondering what plan the Hobbit had next. He had already practically put them in their graves. Was he going to complete the deal? "I meant with the… uh, uh, uh… the seasoning!"

One of the Trolls leaned forward threateningly. "What about the seasoning?"

"Well, have you smelt them?" Bilbo faked a chuckle. "You're going to need something stronger than sage if you're going to plate these lot up."

The Dwarves, shocked by Bilbo's sudden change of loyalty, began to shout curses at him. They called him a 'traitor' and other words that probably would never have been said, had their elders been nearby.

The Troll could not believe his ears either. "What do _you_ know about cooking Dwarf?"

The leader silenced his partner. "Shut up. Let the flurrgaburrhobbit talk."

Bilbo thanked him appreciatively with a nod. "The secret to cooking Dwarf is…"

"Yes? Come on."

"It's… um…"

"Tell us the secret!"

Bilbo stuttered with frustration. "Y-Yes, I'm telling you! The secret is…" Bilbo glanced over at the Dwarves lying beside him. He knew he was going to drive them up the wall with his next idea, but he hoped one of them would have been sensible enough to see his plan. "To… skin them first!"

The Troll's mouth broke out into a rotted smile. "Tom, get me the filleting knife."

Gloin was the first to shout, as he often was. "If I get you, you little-"

Dwalin shouted from across the way. "I won't forget that!"

Even Tormora was slightly appalled by the Hobbit's behavior. She had found him to be a rather friendly, albeit boring, fellow. He had not managed to keep his kind appearance for long, but it was only moments in which Tormora had started to forget about him. She was taking a turn for the worse as the heat rushed into every pore on her body. Bofur, too strung up with Bilbo's betrayal, had not noticed the state of his friend. Her eyes flickering in and out of consciousness as her head began to grow limp. "Come on, Mora…" Bofur whispered through clenched teeth. "Not yet."

"What a load of rubbish!" One of the Trolls suddenly shouted, lapping everyone into a silence. "I've eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all!"

"He's right!" The other agreed. "Nothing wrong with a bit of raw Dwarf!" He quickly reached for the most tempting one of the group, which was unsurprisingly Bombur, and proceeded to dangle him over his salivating mouth. "Nice and crunchy!"

The Dwarves were beyond help. Everyone shouted after their friend, but Bombur had started to convince himself that it was truly the end. He would be awake as his body was digested with nothing but the rotting stench of Troll breath to comfort him. Images of his wife back in Ered Luin came to his mind, as well as flashes of fruit bread, cheese blocks, and vegetable soups of every color.

"Not-not that one!" Bilbo tried to shout over the cries. "He's infected!"

"You _what_?"

"Yes!" Bilbo nodded his head quickly. "He's got worms in his… tubes!" The Troll let go of Bombur in disgust. "In fact, they all have! They're infested with parasites! Especially the female!" Thorin's confusion suddenly bubbled into anger. "It's terrible business; I wouldn't risk it. I really wouldn't."

Bilbo was taking it a bit too far with the insult thrown at Tormora, but the King was finally starting to catch on. The Hobbit was smart enough to make time. Unfortunately Thorin could not pride any other members of his Company with that fact. If Bilbo succeeded, the sun would creep up and surely save them all. Trying to distract himself from the complaints erupting around him, Thorin let his eyes wander towards the spit where Tormora continuously spun. She had seemed fine a few minutes ago, but when he looked at her again, he forced himself a second look.

Her hair dangled in front of her face, blocking her expression. There was no struggle within her body, and he feared her face bore something similar. When the spit finally turned further, and her hair fell back down to her shoulders, it was then that Thorin understood.

"Parasites!" Oin called out in disbelief, recapturing the attention of his King. "Did he say parasites?" Rather than being mad, the old Dwarf genuinely did not hear what the young man had said.

"We don't have parasites!" Kili shouted in horror. Struggling to come up with a comeback, he spat out the first insult he could think of. "You have parasites!"

Gloin shook his head in disbelief. "What are you talking about, laddie?"

Bilbo's eyes could not help but roll as the rest of the ground continued to call him a fool. It was only Thorin who was understanding the plan, and in a silent plea, kicked the others. The sooner they realized, the sooner he could get to Tormora. There was a long lapse of silence, until the Dwarves chimed back in with a different tune.

"I've got parasites as big as my arm!" Oin shouted proudly.

Kili swiftly joined in. "Mine are the biggest parasites! I've got huge parasites!"

"We're riddled!" Nori agreed.

"Yes, I'm riddled!" His younger brother claimed.

Dori returned to his usual fearful self. "Yes we are! Badly!"

Bofur waited for Tormora to make a humorous remark, as she normally would have done in such a moment, but she remained as silent as the grave. A groan escaped his lips as he imagined the kind of darkness she found herself in. "Bilbo, you'd better hurry up…"

"What would you have us do then?" The leading Troll shouted angrily. "Let them all go?"

Bilbo playfully shrugged. "Well…"

"You think I don't know what you're up to? This little ferret is taking us for fools!"

Bilbo had been called short, untalented, lazy and boring, but had never been compared to a rodent! In a state of shock, Bilbo could not help to forget his previous plans of saving his friends. He would rather have saved his reputation. "Ferret?!"

"Fools?" The Troll mocked.

Chaos was suddenly about to break loose. Hell was only seconds away for all of the Dwarves, but thankfully a more sensible man had been keeping watch. A guardian had come in the knick of time. It was Gandalf, and as he spoke, his voice shook the branches, stones and water of the forests. He made it clear that the Trolls were not going to be the victors that night. "The dawn will take you all!"

"Who's that?" One of the Trolls questioned.

The other shrugged. "No idea."

"Can we eat him too?"

Sunlight poured into the clearing as Gandalf brought his staff down upon a boulder. The Trolls suddenly realized that their time was over, and without a final meal at that. Shading themselves from the sun caused them no protection. In seconds, the terrifying Trolls were nothing more than comical statues doomed to linger in the Trollshaw forever.

Cheers erupted from the rest of the group, but those still lingering on the spit did not seem to find the excitement. "Get your foot out of my back!" Dwalin shouted once again.

"Would if I could!" Bofur responded desolately. "But there are other things we need to worry about here!" The group glanced towards Bofur, confused as to why he sounded so distressed. His head jerked towards an unconscious Tormora.

"Get them down," Thorin ordered. "Now!"

The group set to work, with the help of the Wizard, to get the others back onto safe ground. Gandalf extinguished the fire, sending soot blustering about like a grim finale to their dreadful night.

Once the men were untied, Tormora was the next thing to worry about. Her limp body shrugged easily off the pole as her eyes refused to open. Thorin, unable to hide his anxiety any longer, fell onto the ground beside her. Trying to conceal his affections, he gently peeled back her eyelids, disappointed to see nothing but white. "She is not awake." He looked over his shoulder at the troubled Wizard. "You have to do something."

"Stay back," Gandalf spoke. "Give her room to breathe."

Thorin struggled with the order, but made way nonetheless. He was not going to lose Tormora so early on. She had already made his Company happier. She had upset him in the past, and somehow continued to cause him unease, but losing her was not what he wanted. Tormora belonged in the world of the living. The exiled King didn't care if she loathed him, as long as she was breathing and beside him.

Closing his eyes, Gandalf disappeared from Middle-Earth for a moment in order to search his memories for a cure. Within his knowledgeable soul, there was strength to bring Tormora out of her sleep. He let his hand fall from her face after what seemed like hours. The woman laid silently, her chest rising with unacknowledged breaths.

"Well?" Bilbo asked expectantly. "Is she alive?"

Thorin's fear was twisting into anger. How could she fall into unconsciousness so pathetically? She could beat Dwalin in battle, but she couldn't even stand a bit of heat? Thorin's anger stemmed from the fact that he did not know how to acknowledge his emotions. He struggled to compose himself, and furiously his foot sent a stone flying across the open woods.

"A moment…" Tormora's voice was so soft that even Gandalf nearly missed it. Thorin had nearly given up. His mind was already mentally preparing itself for the worst when she had sputtered her way back into his life. Cracking open her bloodshot eyes, Tormora somehow manage a smile. "I hope I didn't miss all of the fun."

"In all my days, Tormora…" Gandalf shook his head with a laugh. "I have never seen a Dwarf awake with a smile."

Tormora's finger gestured towards her bare chin. "I've always wondered if I was even a Dwarf to begin with."

The others started to laugh, but their merriment was cut short. "Heat?" Thorin spoke loudly. His thick arms folded over his chest as Tormora sat up to meet his eyes. "That is your weakness?"

"I am not accustomed to it."

"Have you gotten any rest at all? I don't think it was just the heat." His voice sounded accusing, but the others could detect genuine concern. They all exchanged knowing looks, and those who had heard of the couple's history tried not to snicker.

"No," Tormora muttered. Gandalf helped her to her feet, but she could not remember thank him while her full attention was on Thorin. "I have not rested well, as I was desperately trying to catch you."

"Well, you have. And are you pleased with yourself?"

Tormora _was _pleased. Even though she had found herself trouble on the first night, it was better than another night of watching her father struggle to breathe and wondering where her life had gone. She shrugged aimlessly, hoping her gesture was the answer Thorin wanted.

"Go back to the camp and get the supplies ready," Thorin spoke to the others, but keeping his eyes on Tormora. "We leave in ten minutes. No more. No less." As the others began to fumble about, trying to forget the strange conversation, the two Dwarves of gossip found themselves nearly alone.

Gandalf found himself in a far better mood than when he had left. Playfully, he tapped his staff on one of the Trolls, smiling with delight at his accomplishment. He was not interested in the King's harsh nature towards Tormora, and tried to lighten the atmosphere with a smile.

"Where did you go, if I may ask?" Thorin asked. They needed the Wizard more than Thorin had once believed. He would be careful not to frustrate him again.

Gandalf leaned over his shoulder with a knowing smile. "To look ahead."

Thorin shifted uncomfortably. "What brought you back?"

"Looking behind." The elder shook his head at the Trolls. "Nasty business. Still, they are all in one piece."

"All of our thanks belong to you." Tormora smiled, wiping the ash from her face. "We are eternally grateful."

Thorin had not managed to hear the polite tone of his companion's voice, for when he spoke, his with was with spite. "No thanks to your burglar."

"He had the nous to play for time." Gandalf mocked. "None of the rest of you thought of that!"

Tormora sent a gentle shove to Thorin's arm. The King had known that he was being rude, but once the words started it was hardly easy to stop them. Tormora once had a way of getting him to cool his anger, but now she was the one who sparked it. Nonetheless, in that moment Thorin decided to take her silent plea to spare the Hobbit, and Gandalf, his criticism.

"They must have come down form the Ettenmoors," Gandalf said with a heavy sigh.

"Since when do mountain Trolls venture this far south?"

Tormora followed suite. "I have never heard of such stories in my lifetime. If it is true, then we should be careful of other oddities occurring in Middle-Earth." She was beginning to feel a bit stronger physically, but was fearful that her hope was starting to fade. "This could be more dangerous than we had planned."

"They have not come down for an age." The Wizard shook his head. "Not since a darker power ruled over these lands. They could not have moved in daylight."

"Sauron," Tormora muttered, though the others heard her plainly. She did not blame the Troll's movement on the deceased villain, but he had brought about the darkest age in Middle-Earth history. Could it be possible that similar times could follow? Tormora was swift to remember the nightmares of Sauron, and was thankful not to have lived it.

Thorin, however, was thinking more logically. "There must be a cave nearby. If you," he nodded his head towards Gandalf, "could go and inform the others that we will be venturing further into the woods, that would give me the time I need."

Gandalf looked puzzled, but when Thorin's eyes swiftly darted towards Tormora, he received the hint. "Right you are!" Gandalf began to shuffle away from the clearing. "I shall go rally up the others!"

Gandalf's footsteps began to fall away. The crunching of leaves eventually stopped, securing the fact that the previous lovers were now alone.

"I am sorry I fainted," Tormora laughed, trying to brighten the mood. "It must have been another struggle for you. Perhaps I am not as strong as I-"

"Don't. You are strong. You aren't used to such temperatures."

Tormora was stunned into silence. Was he actually forgiving her?

"I thought I could ask you something." Tormora nodded hesitantly. He could have asked her so many simple questions, but there was always the enquiry as to what feelings she still had for him. If he asked her that, she was already planning an escape route through the trees. "Tormora, it seems strange to say this but-"

"Then don't say it."

"Birashagimi (Excuse me)? " Thorin suddenly switched to his native tongue.

Tormora tensed up as Thorin's soft expression suddenly grew hard. _"_Achrâchi gabilul(I apologize). I don't know what's wrong with me."

Thorin narrowed his gaze even further. He viewed her through a slit in her eyes, his features like those of an provoked snake. "I was going to say, if you'll let me speak…" Tormora nodded her head to continue. "… I know it seems odd to say this after so many years, but I feel that you once knew me better than most. It was a different time in my life and I was young, and careless, and entirely insensible, but you knew how I was then." He paused, making sure that she was still with him. "My question is to ask you whether or not you think I shall succeed."

"Whether you…?"

"Whether I will be prosperous as a King. I fear I have forgotten what my elders were like and how to compare myself to them."

Tormora was almost offended by the question. He shunned her from his life. How was she to know what sort of man he was anymore? Unafraid to speak her mind, Tormora made sure that she spoke clearly. Her accusation was almost unfitting, but it was something she had always believed to be true. "You would have been perfectly well, had you found yourself a wife."

Thorin did not try to hide his shock. What could a woman do for a King? "Kulhu birâglâbizu (What did you say)?"

Pride found Tormora swiftly, as if her unconsciousness had never occurred. "Khuzd tada bijebî âysîthi mud oshmâkhî dhi zurkur ughvashâhu (A Dwarf that chooses a wife must guard her as his greatest treasure)." Tormora shook her head with disbelief. "A wife provides you with support and with an heir of your own blood. You have already failed to become the best King that you could be. As for how you will do now… I haven't the slightest idea."

Tormora started to walk away, embarrassed by the words that had just slipped from her mouth. Thorin had more to say, however, and when his hand found her upper arm she had no choice but to listen. "And I suspect it would have been you?" His voice was certainly powerful, but there was pain lingering inside of it. Tormora could hear it and feared that it would match her own.

"You made it quite clear that I could never in that position."

"You might have been," he muttered. "If times had been different and your loyalties changed. I am not afraid to admit that to you or myself."

She turned to face him, the weakness of her bones showing clearly on her weary face. "My loyalties were always to you. You had captured me when I was not even a woman, and decisions made in those early years are ones that stay with you forever." Her voice broke under the strain of keeping her heart stable. "You think I am dedicated to the Elvish way. You think I betrayed my own people, merely because I was not present in my city when it fell. The truth is that you do not know the entire story. My visits to the Elves were necessary for reasons I do not think you have ever been told." She paused to catch her breath. "Kulhu ma sakhizu ya izzûghizu, ma mahtadadizu ya 'agulhizu (What you don't see, don't invent with your mouth)."

Tormora tugged her arm free of him. Thorin let her walk away, feeling heavily the disappearance of her presence. She left him cold and confused, but he had expected it to be that way. Every part of him wanted to let her go, so that she may find a happier life, but it seemed she did not want that.

Tormora, although she had not confessed, had always wanted to be with him. There was no one in Middle-Earth that could have been substituted. When a Dwarf saw their match, they did not seek another for the end of their days. Tormora knew the truth of her heart.

She would never love anyone else, and her heart was still his.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**THIS IS REALLY LONG SO I BETTER GET REVIEWS.**

**Also, sorry for the delay, but University and all. (:**

**PLEASE REVIEW IT WILL MAKE ME HAPPY.**


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